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SIDONIE 


ALPHONSE DAUDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 


MARY NEAL SHERWOOD 


Entered at the Post Office, N T . Y., as second-class matter. 
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(FROMONT JEUNE ET RISLER AM) 


FROM THE FRENCH OF 

S' 


ALPHONSE DAUDET, 

► k 


By MARY NEal oHERWOCD. 

I 


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CONTENTS 


BOOK I. 

Chaptkb Paob 

I. — A Wedding-Party at Vefours 5 

II. — Story of “Little Ch^be” — Three Families on a Floor 17 

III. — Story of “Little Chebe” — Imitation Pearls . . 83 

IV. — Story of “ Little Chebe ” — The Fire-Flies of Sayigny 46 

V. — How “Little Chebe’s” Story ends .... 58 


BOOK II. 

I. — “My Wife’s Reception-Day” 65 

II. — Real Pearl, and Imitation Pearl .... 75 

III. — The Tayern of the Rue Blondel . . . .83 

IV. — At Sayigny 96 

V. — Sigismond Planus’s Fears for his Cash-Account . 101 

VI. — Stock-taking . . . . . , .111 

VII. — A Letter 123 


BOOK III. 

I. — The Avenger 124 

II. — Explanation ..... , 141 

III. — Poor Little Mademoiselle Zizi . . . .154 

IV. — The Waiting-Room 160 

V. — The Seine . 169 


4 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK I Y. 

Chapter Pagb 

I. — Perplexities 194 

II. — Revelations .199 

III. — Note to meet . . .211 

IV. — The New Clerk of the House of Fromont . . 226 

V. — A. Concert-Room 239 


SIDONIE 


BOOK I. 

V - 

CHAPTER I. 

A WEDDIN Gr-P AIIT Y AT VEFOTTRS. 

“ Madame Chebe 1 ” 

“ My dear boy ? ” 

“ I am so bappy ! ” 

It was certainly the twentieth time that day that 
William Risler had announced his excessive hap- 
piness. Always, too, in the same words, and in 
the same heart-felt tone — soft and low — indicating, 
to a close observer, that he placed a certain restraint 
on himself lest he should say too much. 

Hot for the world would the newly-made hus- 
band make an exhibition of himself — but his hap- 
piness choked his utterance, and made it difficult 
for him to speak. All that day he had, at intervals, 
whispered in the ear of his mother-in-law, “ At last 
I am a happy man ! ” 

For hours the poor fellow had feared that he was 
dreaming — that he had been fooled by an ecstatic 


6 


JSID ON IE. 


vision-— but the hands of the large clock at V ef ours 
pointed to ten, and he had not jet been roughly 
awakened. He lived over the events of the day : 
he saw himself in his simple bachelor’s room ; he had 
just placed in the pocket of his new coat two pairs 
of white gloves. A few hours later, the wedding- 
procession had started. In one of the many car- 
riages he beheld a shimmering cloud of silk and 
tulle, that betokened the presence of the bride. 
Then came the entrance into church — two-by-two — 
following the floating white cloud ; the organ, the 
priest, the benediction, the wax-candles, the jewels, 
and the spring toilets ! Then the crowd in the 
vestry-room, where the small, white sylph was 
kissed and embraced by parents and friends, while 
he himself was warmly congratulated by the first 
merchants in Paris, who had assembled to do him 
honor. 

Then the coming out again into the common 
world — the last triumphant peal of the organ swell- 
ing tumultuously through the widely-opened door 
of the church — the murmurs and comments of the 
crowd gathered at the entrance ; even the words of 
a stout woman, wearing a large white apron — words 
unnoticed at the time — now returned to Pisler. 

“ Well, the husband is not much to look at, but 
the bride is a beauty ! ” and the woman was right, 
he thought. 

Then came a breakfast at the factory, where the 
huge room was gay with flowers ; the drive in the 
Bois — a concession to Madame Ghebe, so true a 


A WEDDING-PARTY AT VA FOURS. 


7 


Parisian by birth and education that she would 
hardly have thought her daughter married without 
a visit to the cascade, and a glimpse of the lake. 

Finally, the return to a grand dinner just as the 
street-lamps began to twinkle along the boulevard. 
He heard again the rattle of the carriages as the 
bridal procession drew up with a needless amount of 
noise and bustle before the private staircase at Ye- 
fours. 

And now, worn out by happy excitement, Kisler 
leaned back in his chair and quietly surveyed the 
large table, in the form of a horseshoe, around 
which were seated twenty-four familiar faces, in 
whose joyous eyes he read only the reflection of his 
own happiness. 

Dessert had been served, and the fruits, flowers, 
and ices, gave color and light to the gay scene. A 
buzz of conversation filled the room ; some of the 
chairs were pushed slightly away from the table, 
and all was going on well. 

Yes, Risler was content. With the exception of 
his brother Frantz, every soul for whom he cared in 
the world was near him. Opposite sat Sidonie — 
yesterday “Miss Sidonie,” to-day his wife and 
“ madame.” She had laid aside her veil, emerged, 
as it were, from her white cloud, and her pretty, 
pale face, crowned by a wreath of orange-blossoms 
and heavy braids of hair, rose from the severe sim- 
plicity of her closely-fitting robe of white silk. In 
her eyes sparkled an air of latent rebellion, and 
about her mouth lingered an expression of discon- 


8 


SID ON IE. 


tent ; but newly-made husbands rarely read such 
signs aright. 

Hext to Sidonie and Frantz, the person whom 
Kisler most loved was Madame Fromont, whom he 
always called “ Madame George,” the wife of his 
partner, and the daughter of the deceased Fromont, 
his former patron, and his hero and model. He had 
placed her next himself, and in his way of speaking 
to her one read at once the deference and tenderness 
with which he regarded her. She was a very young 
woman, about Sidonie’s age, but of a better style of 
beauty, more quiet, more refined. She talked very 
little, feeling somewhat out of place in this mixed 
circle, though she was perfectly amiable, and well 
bred in her manner. 

On Kisler’s other side sat Madame Chebe, the 
bride’s mother, who was dazzling to behold, in a 
robe of glossy green satin. All that day the good 
woman’s thoughts had been as brilliant as her dress, 
and she had said to herself a hundred times, u My 
daughter marries Fromont and Risler.” For to her 
mind it was not Pisler alone whom her daughter 
married, it was the firm itself, so famous in Paris ; 
and, each time that Madame Chebe arrived at this 
conclusion, she drew herself up so erect that the 
silk of her waist creaked like the harness of a war- 
horse. 

What a contrast to her husband, who sat farther 
off ! This little man, with his glossy bald head, as 
round and as empty as a tenpin-ball, looked as furi- 
ously indignant as his wife was radiant ; this, to be 


A WEDDING-PARTY AT V 3 FOURS. 9 

sure, was but liis usual expression. This evening 
he was not so shabby as was his custom, and his 
new black coat was a proper pendant to his wife’s 
green satin ; but, unfortunately, his thoughts were 
as sombre as his coat. “ Why had he not been put 
next the bride, as was his right? Why had that 
place been given to young Fromont ? And why did 
old Gardinois, the Fromonts’ grandfather, sit on the 
other side of Sidonie ? Of course, every considera- 
tion must be paid to the Fromonts and none to the 
Chebes, and yet such people had the face to wonder 
at revolutions ! ” 

Fortunately, as a safety-valve for his indignation, 
the irate little man had next him his friend Dello- 
belle, a superannuated actor, who listened to his 
complaints with a majestic and unmoved counte- 
nance. A man may have been driven from the stage 
by the jealous machinations of managers, kept from 
it for fifteen years, and yet have in reserve many 
impressive attitudes and magnificent poses. So on 
this especial evening Dellobelle felt that much was 
expected of him, and he had adopted a half-smiling, 
h&lf-serious air, at once condescending and solemn. 
One would have imagined him at a feast in the 
first act of a new play, assisting at a banquet where 
all the meats were of pasteboard. In fact, this 
absurd Dellobelle had precisely the air of playing a 
part, feigning to listen to what was said, but really 
meditating only on his reply. 

Singularly enough, the bride, too, had a little of 
the same expression. On her young and pretty face 


10 


SID ON IE. 


was to be detected a certain preoccupation, and occa- 
sionally a faint smile, as if she were talking to herself. 

It was with this same faint smile that she re- 
plied to the not over-refined witticisms of Grandfa- 
ther Gardinois, who was seated on her right. 

“ It is not quite two months,” continued the good 
man, with a boisterous laugh, “ since this little minx, 
this Sidonie here, talked of going into a nunnery — a 
monastery, I fancy, would have suited her better ! ” 

Every one applauded this poor joke of the 
old peasant, whose colossal wealth, as well as na- 
tive shrewdness, inspired respect. Among the few 
he fancied was “ little Chebe,” as he called her : he 
had known her from infancy, and understood her 
thoroughly, while she in her turn was too recently 
endowed with wealth not to venerate riches, and 
treated him always with an odd mixture of venera- 
tion and coquetry. 

To George Fromont, who sat on her left, how- 
ever, her manner was very reserved. Their con- 
versation was simply an exchange of civilities, and 
seemed like an affectation of indifference. Sud- 
denly came the flutter and rustle of silks, the half 
silence, and the general indications of rising from 
the table, and above all was heard the shrill voice 
of Madame Chebe addressing a cousin from the 
country, who was in an ecstasy of admiration at the 
calm dignity of the bride, who was at that moment 
standing, leaning on the arm of M. Gardinois. 

“.I tell you, cousin,” exclaimed the proud mother, 
“ no one has ever yet been able to read the thoughts 


A WEDDING-PARTY AT V£ FOURS. 


11 


or feelings of my Sidonie ! ” Then the guests with 
much laughter passed into the grand salon. 

While the guests, who were invited only to the 
ball which was to crown the festivities, were assem- 
bling, and the orchestra were tuning their instru- 
ments, while the youths hovering in the doorway 
were mentally deciding with whom to dance, Risler 
took refuge in a smaller, darker, and cooler room, 
communicating with the salon . Sigismond Planus, 
his old friend, and the cashier for thirty years of the 
mercantile house of Fromont, joined him. They 
were alone, and could say a few words in comfort. 

“ Sigismond, old boy ! I am perfectly happy ! ” 

Sigismond wished to express his delight, but 
Risler gave him no opportunity of doing so. All 
the joy in the good man’s heart bubbled to the sur- 
face, and liS continued : 

“ J ust think of it, Sigismond ! Is it not aston- 
ishing that a pretty young girl like that could ac- 
cept me? I know quite well that I am old and 
ugly, for I am forty-four. Many another she might 
have married, without counting Frantz, who you 
know worshiped her. But no — she wanted old 
Risler, and she has got him. 

“ It all came about, too, in such an extraordinary 
fashion. For some time I had fancied her sad and 
out of spirits. I feared lest some unfortunate love- 
affair caused this state of things. In vain did her 
mother and I talk it over together. We could think 
of no one whom she could possibly care a sou for. 
Finally, one morning, in came Madame Chebe, all in 


12 


SID ONI E. 


tears, to my office. £ It is you, William, whom she 
loves ! ’ she cried. And so it was. Just think of 
that, my friend ! And who ever heard of a man 
having two such strokes of good luck, following so 
close on one another, as I have had in this year ? 
To be admitted into the house of From on t, as full 
partner, with no capital but my brains, and to have 
Sidonie for my wife ! ” 

At this moment a couple floated into the room, 
a youthful pair, alike handsome, alike young ; wafted 
as it were on the intoxicating strains of the bewil- 
dering music. The bride was looking straight into 
the eyes of her husband’s partner, and the lips of 
both were moving rapidly as they whispered each in 
the ear of the other. 

“ It is false ! ” hissed Sidonie, fiercely, but still 
smiling. 

“ I swear it is true ! ” answered the young man, 
even paler than the bride. “ My uncle insisted on 
it ; he was dying, and you had gone. How could I 
resist ? ” 

From afar off Risler looked at the pair in ad^ 
miration. “How pretty she is! How well they 
dance together ! ” But, as the two caught sight of 
Risler, they separated, and Sidonie went directly 
toward her husband. 

“You here?” she said. “Every one is looking 
for you. Why are you not in the ballroom ? ” and 
as she spoke she hastily retied his cravat, while 
Risler smiled out of the corner of his eyes at Sigis- 
mond, and was too delighted with the little hand 


A WEDDING-PARTY AT VAPOURS. 


13 


fluttering at his throat to notice the trembling of 
each slender finger. 

“ Give me your arm,” she said, and they entered 
the drawing-room together. Her long, white train 
made his badly-cut, badly-fitting coat appear still 
more awkward ; but a coat cannot be made over 
like the knot of a cravat, and it w r as necessary to 
accept him as he was. Nevertheless, Sidonie had a 
moment of gratified vanity as she bowed to the right 
and to the left oh their passage up the room. Un- 
fortunately, it soon came to an end, for in the cor- 
ner sat a young and pretty woman whom no one 
asked to dance. As soon as he perceived her, Risler 
at once went to her, and Sidonie found herself com- 
pelled to take a seat at her side. It is needless to 
say that this lady was “ Madame George.” To 
whom else would he have spoken with this respectful 
tenderness ? In whose hand but hers would he have 
placed his little Sidonie 5 s, as he said : “ You will love 
her, will you not? You are so good, and she needs 
your advice so much — your knowledge of the world ? 55 

“But, my good friend,” interrupted Madame 
George, “ Sidonie and I are intimates already. We 
have every reason to love each other . 55 And her 
quiet, honest eyes looked frankly into those of her 
old companion. 

Utterly ignorant of the ways of women, and in 
the habit of treating Sidonie as a mere child, Bisler 
continued, in the same tone : “ Take pattern by her, 
little one ; there is but one Madame George in the 
world. She is just like her father, a true Fromont ! 55 


14 


SID ON IE. 


Sidonie, with her eyes cast down, bowed with- 
out reply ; hut a slight shiver ran from the tip of 
her satin shoe to the smallest bud on her wreath of 
orange-blossoms. But the good Bisler saw nothing. 

The ball, the music, the lights, and the flowers, 
had intoxicated him ; he thought every one as happy 
as himself, and knew and suspected nothing of all 
the rivalries and small hatreds that went on about 
him. He did not see Dellobelle, with his elbow on 
the chimney-piece, one hand on nis hip holding his 
hat, waiting for the time to come to utilize his 
especial talents ; nor did he notice M. Chebe lean- 
ing against a pillar of the door, more furious than 
ever against the Fromonts. 

“ Oh, these Fromonts ! Why should they occupy 
such a conspicuous position at this wedding ? What 
had they to do with it ? — and he, the father of the 
bride, had not even been presented to Madame 
George ! ” — and the little man cast enraged glances 
at his wife, who sat smiling in supreme content. 

At this wedding, as at almost all others, the dis- 
tinct circles jostled each other, but did not harmon- 
ize. Finally, one gave way to the other. “ Those 
Fromonts,” who so irritated M. Chebe, and who 
formed the aristocracy of the ball, the president of 
the Chamber of Commerce, a distinguished solicitor, 
and the old millionaire Gardinois, all retired about 
midnight, quickly followed by M. and Madame 
George Fromont. Then the bride, with her mother 
and Risler, slipped away, leaving M. Chebe, who 
had recovered his spirits, to do the honors. 


A WEDDING-PARTY AT Vfi FOURS. 


15 


Through the deserted streets the bridal carriage 
rolled heavily toward the new home. Madame 
Chebe talked much, enumerating all the splendors 
of this memorable day, dwelling especially on the 
dinner, the commonplace carte of which had been 
to her the epitome of luxury. Sidonie was half 
asleep in the corner of the carriage ; and if Risler, 
opposite, did not say, “ I am happy,” it was because 
his heart was too full to speak. Once he attempted 
to take in his the little white hand that rested on 
the window, but it was quickly withdrawn, and he 
sat lost in silent adoration. Once the carriage 
stopped to drop Madame Chebe at her own door, 
too narrow for the voluminous flounces of her mag- 
nificent dress. A few minutes later the coach drew 
up before the massive gates of an old hotel in La 
Rue des Yielles Haudriettes, bearing, above the 
half -effaced coat of arms, a huge sign, on which, in 
letters of gold and blue, were to be read the words, 

“ Wall-Papeus, at Wholesale only.” 

The bride leaned forward. Had not all the 
lights been extinguished in the enormous buildings 
surrounding the court, Risler would have seen the 
smile of triumph that irradiated the pretty, enig- 
matical, contradictory face. 

The noise of the wheels was deadened by the 
fine gravel of an avenue which led to the small 
hotel of two stories. It was there, on the lower 
floor, that George Fromont lived, and the Rislers 
were to occupy the second. The house, simple as 


16 


SIDONIE. 


it was, had yet an air of luxury that night, lent by 
the magnificent flowers and shrubs that lined the 
hall and staircase. 

While Eisler surveyed his new home in supreme 
content, Sidonie retreated to her boudoir. By the 
light of the rose-colored chandelier she first care- 
fully surveyed herself in the long mirror, and then 
calmly turned to examine in a leisurely fashion 
each detail of this, to her, unwonted luxury. This 
examination over, she threw open a window and 
stepped out on a balcony. The night was clear 
and mild. By the waning light of the moon she 
saw the whole of the manufactory, with its thou- 
sand windows and numerous chimneys. 

At her feet lay the small hut exquisitely-kept 
garden. All around were black and narrow streets. 
Suddenly she started. Below, off toward the left, 
in one of the most wretched of all the crowded at- 
tics, she saw a window in the fifth story thrown 
widely open. She knew it instantly — it was the 
staircase window of the floor which her parents 
inhabited. How well she knew it! How many 
things the sight of it recalled ! How many hours 
— how many days indeed — had she passed there, 
leaning from this window without a railing or a 
balcony, looking toward the manufactory! She 
fancied she could at that distance detect “ little 
Chebe’s” small head, set in the frame of the win- 
dow ; and all her past life seemed to unfold before 
her — her childhood, and, worse than all, the sad 
youth of a poor girl in the city of Paris. 


CHAPTER II. 

STORY OF U LITTLE CHEBE ” THREE FAMILIES ON A 

FLOOR. 

In the crowded homes of the poor, the corri- 
dor and staircase are regarded by them as another 
apartment. The children play there, while the 
women gossip and the men smoke. When “ little 
Chebe” made too much noise, her mother would 
say : “ You drive me crazy ; go out on the corridor 
and play ! ” The child obeyed her gladly. 

This same corridor was on the upper floor of an 
ancient dwelling. Economy of space had formed no 
part of the original plan — it was broad, with a high 
ceiling, and protected on the side nearest the stairs 
by a heavy iron railing ; at one end it was lighted 
by a large window that overlooked all the other 
roofs and chimneys, and a little way off the green 
turf in the garden of the Fromont establishment 
lay cool and fresh among the dusty old walls and 
superannuated buildings. 

There was little, to be sure, that was very gay 
in the prospect ; still, the child liked it infinitely 
better than the outlook from the windows of her 
parents’ rooms, which were always gloomy and 


18 


SID 0 NIK 


sunless, and wellnigh intolerable when it rained, 
and her father could not go out. 

Ferdinand Chebe was indolent, and always form- 
ing plans to make a magnificent fortune. At first 
he had imposed on his wife, but after repeated dis* 
appointments she learned to estimate him at his real 
value, and refused to attach any importance to his 
wild dreams. Of the comfortable little dowry, 
brought by her and wasted by him in foolish specu- 
lations, there remained but a mere pittance: a 
camel’ s-hair shawl, sacred to great occasions; the 
laces she wore on her marriage-day ; and two dia- 
mond buttons, small enough, certainly, but still so 
brilliant that Sidonie often implored her mother to 
open the white-velvet case in which they had lain 
for thirty years or more. 

M. Chebe had been years seeking some active 
employment — his health, as he affirmed, not allow- 
ing him to lead a sedentary life. It must be ac- 
knowledged that in the early days of his married 
life, when his business was prosperous and money 
was plentiful, when he kept his horse and his 
groom, he was thrown from a carriage and se- 
verely injured. This accident had served ever 
ffiice as an excuse for all his indolence. One was 
never five minutes with M. Chebe that he did not 
say in a confidential tone, “ You remember the ac- 
cident that happened to the Due d’Orleans? ” and he 
added, invariably tapping his own bald head, “ Pre- 
cisely the same thing happened to me, my friend — 
precisely the same thing!” 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE: 


19 


Situation after situation had been abandoned as 
not lucrative or dignified enough, so that at the 
time of which we speak he was a burden to him- 
self and to others. Every one can speak of the ec- 
centricities of artists and literary men, but who 
can adequately describe the preposterous follies of a 
half-educated, unemployed shopkeeper? If a new 
street was being laid out, he felt called upon daily 
to inspect the progress of the workmen. No one 
knew better than he the specialties of the differ- 
ent shops, and sometimes Madame Chebe, out of 
all patience at seeing the vacant face of her hus- 
band pressed against the window-panes, would say, 
as she ironed the house-linen: “You know the 
baker’s shop, in such a street, where they sell such 
excellent cakes ? Go and get a couple for dessert.” 
So the husband sallied forth, slowly walked up the 
boulevard, went to the shop, and passed half the 
day in the street, returning in triumph, wiping his 
forehead, as he entered the house with the two 
cakes under his arm, for which he had spent a few 
pennies and the whole morning. 

His wife made no complaint, though she hon- 
estly wished that he would make some money. 
The poor woman made no more than he, but she 
so thoroughly understood the art of saving it that 
absolute poverty had never yet entered their doors. 
Their rooms were always delicately clean, and the 
old furniture shone brightly under her care. 

Opposite the Chebe door were too smaller ones. 
On the first, a card, fastened by four small nails, 


20 


SID ON IE. 


bore the name of “ Pisler, Designer of Patterns for 
Manufacturers,” and on the other was a small sign, 
with this inscription in gilt letters : 

“MADAME DELLOBELLE. 

BEETLES AND HUMMING-BIRDS.” 

The Dellobelles’ door was always wide open, and 
showed a large square room, where two women — ■ 
mother and daughter, the latter almost a child — la- 
bored assiduously at one of the thousand small in- 
dustries by which Paris supplies the civilized world 
with articles of taste. 

At that time it was the fashion to ornajnent hats 
and ball-dresses with those brilliant beetles from 
South America, and with those dainty birds whose 
breasts glitter as if set closely with rubies and em- 
eralds. This was Madame Dellobelle’s specialty. 

A wholesale house, to whom the goods were con- 
signed from the Antilles, sent them at once on their 
arrival to Madame Dellobelle. When the cover was 
lifted, a dull, dead odor, and a fine arsenical dust, 
filled the room. The beetles were piled one upon 
another ; the birds were closely packed, each with 
its wings stretched on a bit of stiff paper. All these 
were to be mounted — each beetle must tremble on 
a bit of wire ; the ruffled plumage of the humming- 
birds was to be smoothed, and two pearl beads in- 
serted instead of the eyes that were no longer there ; 
and each tiny creature must be made to assume a 
life-like position. The mother did her work undei 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE: 


21 


lier daughter’s direction ; for Desiree, though so 
young, had such exquisite taste, such originality of 
invention, that no one could arrange the birds as she 
could. 

Lame from her infancy, in consequence of an 
accident that had in no way lessened the beauty 
of her refined face, Desiree had acquired, in conse- 
quence of her enforced immobility, a certain high- 
bred pallor, and her industry was of such a nature 
that the natural beauty of her white hands was un- 
injured. Her beautiful hair was always carefully 
arranged, and she passed her days buried in a large 
arm-chair, before a table that was covered with 
fashion-plates and birds of all tints, finding some 
compensation in the elegance of her employment 
for the poverty and anxiety of her life. 

She knew that all these little wings would glit- 
ter at Parisian fetes , and, by the fashion in which 
she would arrange her birds and her beetles, it was 
easy to divine her thoughts. On her sad and weary 
days the wings were widely spread, as if eager for 
a flight, fast and furious enough to bear the little 
creature far away from this poor abode, and petty 
cares and trials. At other times, when she was 
happy, the tiny things themselves looked radiant, 
like a very caprice of fashion. 

Happy or unhappy, Desiree toiled on with un- 
flagging energy ; from sunrise until far into the 
night the table was piled with work. When day- 
light was gone, and the bell of the factory sounded 
its dismissal, Madame Dellobelle lighted her lamp, 


22 


SIB ON IE. 


and, after a liglit repast, the two resumed their 
labors. 

The indefatigable women had hut one aim — one 
fixed idea in life — and this was the dramatic success 
of Dellobelle. 

From the unfortunate day that he had left a pro- 
vincial theatre, to play comedy in Paris, Dellobelle 
had expected some manager, cleverer and less igno- 
rant than others, to discover his genius and offer 
him a position worthy of his talents. Perhaps, in 
the beginning, Dellobelle might have found some 
employment in a third-rate theatre, but to such an 
idea he would not condescend to listen. He pre- 
ferred, he said, “ to wait, and to struggle ! ” . And 
shall we show our readers how he struggled ? 

He passed his mornings in his chamber — often 
in his bed — rehearsing his former roles , and his wife 
and daughter shuddered with terror, as they heard 
some tragic speech loudly declaimed. After a late 
breakfast the actor sallied forth, well brushed and 
perfumed, and wandered up and down the boule- 
vards until night, his hat a little on one* side, and a 
toothpick between his lips. 

The matter of costume he regarded as of the high- 
est importance. What manager, he asked, would 
engage him were he shabbily dressed and unshaven \ 

So his womenkind watched carefully that he 
lacked nothing, and you may imagine how many 
beetles and humming-birds they mounted daily to 
keep him in this resplendent condition. 

But the comedian thought it all right. In his 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE . ’ 


23 


opinion the privations and toil of his wife and 
daughter were so many sacrifices, not made for him, 
but laid on the altar of the unknown divinity, the 
coining manager. 

Between the Dellobelle household and the Chebe 
there was a certain similarity of position, but it was 
brighter and gayer with the Dellobelles, for their 
hopes and faith opened to them a possible future, 
while the Chebes knew that for them there could be 
no amelioration of their lot ; then, Madame Chebe 
no longer believed in her husband, while her neigh- 
bor had never doubted hers. 

And yet for years and years Dellobelle had in- 
terviewed all the dramatists of the great city, had 
waited on one manager after another, but had never 
succeeded in obtaining an engagement. A friend 
had succeeded in procuring his appointment as stew- 
ard of a fashionable club, where good manners were 
an essential — and Heaven knows the actor had those 
— but all such propositions Dellobelle received with 
an heroic denial. 

“ I have no right to bid farewell to the theatre,” 
said the great man. 

From the lips of this poor fellow, whose feet had 
not trod the boards for many a long year, such words 
were irresistibly comic ; but, after a glance at the 
pale wife and -paler daughter, one lost all desire to 
smile ; and to hear one or the other say, as they 
twisted the steel wire of their ' birds, a Ho, no, M. 
Dellobelle has no right to relinquish the theatre,” 
was enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. 


24 


SID ON IE. 


Happy man ! idolized in his own home, saluted 
respectfully by the neighbors when he appeared in 
the street, for Parisians have an extraordinary pre- 
dilection for the theatre, and a great regard for any 
one, however remotely, connected with it. And yet 
this great man contentedly went every Saturday 
evening to a milliner in La Hue Saint-Denis, a huge 
paper box under his arm, to carry home the work of 
his wife and daughter. 

Even in executing this commission his manners 
and costume were so irreproachable that the young 
lady whose duty it was to receive him found it ex- 
tremely embarrassing to hand him the week’s wages, 
so laboriously earned and so small in amount. 

On these evenings the actor did not dine at 
home ; the ladies never looked for him ; his excuse 
was always ready : he had met an old friend and 
invited him to dinner. He brought home the re- 
mainder of the money, to be sure, and sometimes a 
bouquet to Desiree, or a little gift to his wife. “ A 
mere nothing,” he said, loftily. Thus you under- 
stand how, notwithstanding the industry and the 
courage of these two women, and the fact that, 
though their labors were comparatively lucrative, 
they were often cramped for money, particularly at 
certain seasons of the year, when the gay world had 
left Paris, and their particular branch of industry 
languished. 

Fortunately, Pisler was near at hand, and always 
ready to serve his friends. 

William Pisler, the third tenant on that floor, 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CH%BE; 


25 


resided there with his younger brother Frantz, young- 
er by fifteen years than himself. The two were na- 
tives of Switzerland, and their tall, manly forms 
and fresh complexions seemed to lend some of their 
own vitality to the dark and dreary house. The 
ddest was designer to the Fromont manufactory, 
and paid his brother’s expenses at college. 

When Willianr first arrived in Paris, a stranger, 
and ignorant of the ways of cities, he gladly availed 
himself of the kind offers of assistance made to him 
by his new neighbors, Madame Chebe and the Del- 
lobelles. They gave him advice and recommended 
their own tradespeople, and altogether were invalu- 
able to him. In a few months they all became as 
one family. 

On fete days the brothers were always asked to 
the home of one or the other of their new friends ; 
and it was no small consolation to the two exiles to 
find themselves welcome at the modest fireside and 
table. Risler’s salary was so large, too, occupying 
as he did so important a position in the wealthy es- 
tablishment of the Fromonts, that he was enabled to 
bestow on the Dellobelles many tangible benefits, 
and to enter the Chebes’ room laden with little gifts. 
This little Sidonie soon understood, and ran to meet 
h im , climbing on his knees and boldly searching his 
pockets. Occasionally he invited them all to the 
theatre, and nearly every evening he went with 
Chebe or Dellobelle to a brewery, where he regaled 
them with beer, a pipe, and stale Pretzel. 

Pretzels and beer were his only vice, and his 
2 


26 


SID ON IE. 


greatest enjoyment was to sit between his twc 
friends, joining in the conversation only with an 
occasional laugh or a nod of the head. Naturally 
timid and unable to express himself fluently, and 
conscious of certain provincialisms that clung to him 
still, he shrank from new acquaintances. His old 
friends absorbed him, while at the same time im- 
pressing upon him their immense superiority. Ac- 
cording to M . Chebe, no man who worked ten hours 
each day could by any possibility have at the end of 
that time any opinion worth offering to #ny one on 
any subject. 

Sometimes the designer came in overwhelmed 
with care, meaning after an hour’s repose to return 
to the factory and work all night. M. Chebe’s air 
of surprised contempt was an absolute study. 

“ I can’t imagine a man of sense guilty of such 
folly,” he would say. 

Dellobelle was less fierce, but his supercilious 
condescension was equally amusing. Risler was 
thoroughly convinced of his own inferiority, and 
gently sought to induce his friends to pardon and 
overlook it by thoughtful attentions and kindnesses. 

In each one of these three humble homes Sido- 
nie Chebe was always welcome and equally at ease. 
At any hour of the day she would rush into the 
Dellobelles’ room, perch herself on the arm of Desi- 
ree’s chair, and watch the rapid movements of the 
pale girl’s fingers. When tired of this, the child 
would pounce, on some discarded beetle, one which 
had lost a wing on its long voyage, or a humming* 


STORY OF “LITTLE CHEBE: 


27 


bird whose feathers were hopelessly damaged ; such 
being always preserved for her use. Already more 
coquettish than playful, the little girl would arrange 
them in her clustering curls, while Desiree and her 
mother smiled to see her standing on tiptoe before 
the old tarnished mirror. When she had studied 
herself sufficiently, Sidonie, craving more admira- 
tion, would gravely go and knock at the Rislers’ door. 

During the day only Frantz was there, busy over 
his books at his table by the window. Sidonie, 
holding her head very stiffly, lest her tiara should 
be disarranged, appeared on the threshold. Fare- 
well to study ! Everything must be abandoned to 
do honor to this princess from fairy-land, who came, 
crowned with shining jewels, to pay him a visit. 
It was droll enough to see this tall, overgrown 
youth absorbed by this eight-year-old girl, yielding 
to her caprices and whims ; so that later, when he 
became madly in love with her, no one could fix the 
date when his passion began. 

Petted as she was in these different rooms, there 
was yet many an hour when Sidonie gladly took 
refuge in the large window on the staircase. It was 
there that she found her greatest amusement ; there 
that she contemplated a vague future. 

The child watched the glittering windows of the 
huge factory-buildings, and the heavy smoke that at 
certain hours rolled from the chimneys and envel- 
oped the gray walls only added the additional charm 
of mystery. The Fromont manufactory represented 
to her the acme of luxury and wealth, while the 


28 


SID ON IE. 


swaying tops of the trees in the garden seemed to 
beckon her to the promised land, the country of her 
dreams. 

She listened with intense interest to all that 
Eisler would tell her — of his master, of his kind- 
ness, and his success in his business — and she watched 
with childish curiosity every detail of M. Fromont’s 
home-life. The marble steps to the garden, the 
gilded aviary, the perfectly-appointed coupe in the 
courtyard, all were constant objects of her admi- 
ration. She knew the daily habits of the house- 
hold ; the hours for the dismissal of the workmen ; 
the pay-day, when the cashier’s lamp burned far 
into the evening ; and Sundays, when the profound 
silence about the courtyard brought nearer the voices 
of Mademoiselle Claire and her cousin George, as 
they played together in the garden. From Risler 
she had acquired much information. “ Show me 
the drawing-room windows,” she said ; “ and now, 
which is Claire’s sleeping-room ? ” 

And Eisler, charmed with this sympathetic in- 
fatuation for his dear manufactory, explained over 
and over again to the child the arrangement of the 
buildings, the position of the different work-rooms, 
and showed her the especial corner where his own 
office was situated. 

Finally, one day, Sidonie penetrated to this para- 
dise. 

Madame Fromont, to whom Eisler had often 
spoken of the intelligence and sweetness of his little 
neighbor, begged him to bring her there, on the 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE 


29 


occasion of a children’s ball that she was arranging 
for Christmas-week. 

At first M. Chebe gave a curt refusal. “He 
had been humiliated enough,” he muttered, “ by 
these Fromonts, whose name was never out of 
Risler’s mouth. Besides, it was a fancy-dress ball, 
and he, unfortunately, did not sell wall-papers, and 
consequently could not afford to dress his daughter 
in costume.” But Bisler begged and entreated, 
promising to take everything upon himself, and at 
once proceeded to design a costume. 

It was a memorable evening. 

In Madame Chebe’s apartment Desiree Dello- 
belle presided over Sidonie’s toilet. The room was 
littered with bright-colored draperies ; pins and spools 
of cotton lay on the table. The little girl, in her 
short skirt of red flannel striped with black, stood 
grave and erect before the mirror. She was charm- 
ing. The bodice laced with black velvet over a 
waist of muslin, and hei; long braids of chestnut 
hair fell from a broad-brimmed straw-hat. The 
somewhat ordinary details of Sidonie’s costume were 
refined by the child’s intelligent face and by her 
well-bred air. The little circle of friends were 
breathless with admiration, and, while some one 
went to call the actor, Desiree arranged the folds of 
the skirt, the bow of ribbon on the shoes, and seemed 
herself to be over joyed at the thought of an enter- 
tainment which she should never see. The great 
man appeared. He made Sidonie repeat the pro- 
found courtesy which he had taught her, and showed 


30 


SID 0 ME. 


her how to enter a room, and to pay her respects to 
her hostess. It was truly droll to see the accuracy 
with which the child obeyed these instructions. 
“ She has the blood of an actress in her veins ! ” 
cried the old actor, enthusiastically; and, without 
knowing why, that great blockhead of a Frantz 
felt ready to cry. 

A year after this happy evening, had any one 
asked Sidonie what flowers decorated the rooms, 
the color of the furniture, the name of the waltz 
that she heard as she entered the house, she could 
have answered in turn each question correctly. 
She forgot nothing, not one of the costumes that 
whirled past her ; she still heard the childish laugh- 
ter, and the sound of the little feet on the waxed 
floor. 

For a moment, as she sat on the red -satin sofa, 
and took an ice from the tray which an attentive 
servant held before her, she thought of the dark 
staircase, the small, ill-ventilated home of her 
.parents, and it all seemed to her like a distant 
country left behind forever. 

Every one thought her charming, and petted and 
caressed her. 

Claire Fromont, a small marquise, in pink and 
blue, presented her cousin George, a magnificent 
liussar, who turned around every minute or two to 
see the effect of his sabretache. 

“ You understand, George, she is my friend ; she 
is coming to play with us cn Saturdav. Mamma has 
invited her.” 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE: 


31 


And in the joy of her happy little heart Claire 
embraced Sidonie with vehemence. 

Nevertheless, the hour came to leave. Through 
the dark street — where the snow was silently falling 
— up the narrow staircase, and in the dull room 
where her mother sat waiting, the child still beheld 
the glittering lights of the ballroom. 

“Was it beautiful? did you enjoy it?” ques- 
tioned her mother, as she unfastened the brilliant 
costume. 

And Sidonie, overwhelmed with fatigue, slept 
as she stood, and began an alluring dream then and 
there that lasted all through the days of her youth, 
and cost her many bitter tears. 

Claire Fromont kept her word: Sidonie went 
often to play with her in that lovely garden, and 
examined at her ease the gilded aviary. She knew 
each corner of the huge factory, and played there 
many a game of hide-and-go-seek on a quiet Sunday 
afternoon. \ 

Everybody loved her without her ever evincing 
much affection for any one. As long as she was in the 
midst of this luxury she was gentle and happy ; but 
at home again with her parents, looking at the outer 
walls of the manufactory through the cloudy win- 
dow on the corridor, she felt a pang of inexplicable 
anger. 

Sometimes she drove to the Bois in that beauti- 
ful coupe , and occasionally she was invited for a 
week to the country-house of Claire’s grandfather. 
Thanks to Kisler, who was very proud of the girl’s 


SID ON IE. 


82 

success, she was always well dressed. Madame 
Chebe spared no pains, and Desiree was always 
ready to employ in her little friend’s service her own 
marvelous taste and ingenuity. 

M. Chebe, always hostile to the Fromonts, con- 
templated with contempt this increasing intimacy. 
The truth was, that he was never asked himself ; but 
this reason he naturally never gave, and only said to 
his wife : 

“ Can’t you see that the girl is always sad when 
she returns home, and that she passes hour after hour 
in idleness, looking out of the window ? ” 

But poor Madame Chebe, so unfortunate in her 
marriage, had become improvident. She maintained 
that one must enjoy the present ; seize happiness as 
it passes, since often one has in life, for support and 
consolation, nothing but the remembrance of a happy 
childhood. 

For once M. Chebe was right 


CHAPTER III. 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE ” IMITATION PEARLS. 

After two or three years of intimacy, years in 
which Sidonie acquired with marvelous ease luxuri- 
ous habits, and the gracious manners of the children 
of wealth, the friendship was suddenly broken up. 
For some time George had been away at school. 
Claire, in her turn, was sent, with a wardrobe fit for 
a queen, to a convent, and at the same time the 
question was under discussion in the Chebe domicile 
as to Sidonie’s future. 

The two children promised to love each other al- 
ways, and to meet every other Sunday. They kept 
their word, but, as the young girls grew tailer and 
older, Sidonie began to understand the infinite dis- 
tance that divided them, and her dresses seemed too 
plain for Madame Fromont’s elegant rooms. 

When the three alone were together their friend- 
ship made their social relations equal ; but visitors 
now often came — a companion from the convent, or 
some tall girl richly dressed, who was brought by 
her mother’s maid to spend the day with Claire. 

As she watched her ascending the steps, Sido- 
nie felt a strong desire to run away at once. The 
stranger soon embarrassed her with questions. 


34 


SID ON IE. 


Where did she live ? Had she a carriage ? 

Hearing them talk of their convent, of their 
mutual friends, Sidonie felt that she lived in a world 
apart — a thousand leagues from theirs ; and a mortal 
(sadness overwhelmed her, above all, when on her 
return home her mother spoke of entering her as 
apprentice. to a Mademoiselle Le Mire, a friend of 
the Dellobelles, who had in a neighboring street an 
establishment for the sale of imitation pearls. 

Bisler thought well of this plan. “ Let her learn 
her trade,” said this kind heart, “ and by-and-by I 
will furnish her with capital to start her in business.” 
In fact, Mademoiselle Le Mire talked of retiring in 
a few years. 

One dreary morning in November, her father 
took Sidonie to the fourth story of an old house — 
older and blacker than their own. On the lower 
door was hung, among twenty other signs, a small 
glass case, covered with dust ; within were some neck- 
laces of imitation pearls, yellowed by time, and the 
pietentious name of Angelina Le Mire surmounted 
the whole. 

What a forlorn place it was ! — a narrow stairway, 
and narrower door ; a succession of small rooms, 
each sunless and cold, and in the last an elderly wom- 
an with a false front of curls, black-lace mitts, read- 
ing a tumbled and soiled number of a magazine, and 
appearing somewhat out of temper that she had been 
disturbed in this lively employment. 

Mademoiselle Le Mire received the father and 
daughter without rising ; spoke at length of her lost 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE : 


35 


social position, of her father, and of a faithless agent 
who had run away with their fortune. She, there- 
fore, became extremely absorbing to M. Chebe, who 
felt a keen interest always in all such incidents. 
With difficulty he tore himself away, telling his 
daughter that he would come for her at seven in the 
evening. 

The new apprentice was shown into the still 
empty work-room, and was placed before a large 
drawer of pearl beads, in which needles and scissors, 
bodkins and cheap novels, were thrown pell-mell. 

Sidonie had only to sort the pearls, and to string 
them in little bunches of equal length, to sell to 
small merchants. The other young ladies, ma- 
demoiselle said, would soon be there, and would 
show her just what to do ; and mademoiselle re- 
treated to the farther room, where she spent her life 
reading romances. -- 

At nine o’clock the work-women arrived, five 
tall, pale girls, faded and worn, miserably dressed, 
but with their hair exquisitely arranged, as is the 
custom among the working-classes in Paris. 

1 Two or three talked, between their yawns, rub- 
bing their eyes, and saying that they were dying for 
want of sleep. Then they went to work at a long 
table, where each one had her drawer and her tools. 
An order had just come in for some mourning orna- 
ments, and they must hurry. Sidonie, who had 
been taught her duties by the head-woman, in a tone 
of infinite superiority, began to string mechanically 
a quantity of black pearls. 


SID OKIE. 


The others took no notice, other than an inquisi- 
tive stare, of the new-comer, and were soon deep in 
gossip over a marriage that was to take place that 
day at a church round the corner. 

“ Let us go,” cried one dark-eyed girl. “ It is at 
noon exactly ; we shall have time.” 

And at that hour the five girls snatched their 
shawls and rushed down the stairs like a whirlwind, 
leaving Sidonie to eat from a corner of the long 
table the dinner she had brought with her. The 
girl thought it dreary enough, and her life intol- 
erable. 

At one, the work-worn en returned noisy and gay. 
“Did you notice the richness of that white silk? 
And the veil of real point ? What luck for her ! ” 
And they continued to chatter in the work-room, as 
loudly as they had done in the church, where, un- 
awed by the solemnity, they had examined each 
toilet in detail. A rich marriage, jewels, and fine 
clothes, were the themes of their discourse. But 
their fingers flew as they talked. The black walls 
of mademoiselle’s close rooms no longer bounded 
their horizon. Their hopes and wishes had over- 
leaped them. “ If you were rich, what would you 
do ? ” said one. “ Do ? Why, I should have apart- 
ments on the Champs-Elysees, and drive in my 
carriage.” 

From her corner, Sidonie listened in silence, 
handling the black beads with the delicacy and pre- 
cision of touch she had learned from Desiree. 
When her father appeared at night, he received 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE.' 


37 


many compliments on her industry and skill. 
Henceforward, one day was like another ; the only 
difference being, that some days she worked on 
white instead of black pearls, or she strung red 
beads that looked like coral, for Mademoiselle La 
Mire used only imitations and tinsel — and it was 
thus that u little Chebe ” took her first step in life. 

For some time, the new apprentice, younger and 
better educated than the others, found herself in 
solitude among them. Later, as she grew older, she 
was admitted to their friendship and confidence, 
without ever sharing their pleasures. She was too 
proud to run through the streets to witness a mar- 
riage, and, when she heard of their suppers and their 
dances, she shrugged her shoulders with disdain. 
Our visions soar higher than that, Sidonie, do they 
not? 

Sometimes, toward the end of the year, she was 
obliged to send her father home again without her, 
and remain with the others to finish some pressing 
work. Under the flickering light of the gas, these 
pale faces bending over their pearls, white as them- 
selves, gave one the heart-ache. It was the same 
fragile brilliancy. They chatted of the theatre 
and masked balls, and the pearls rattled as they 
talked. 

In summer the work was less hurried, and in the 
middle of the day the apprentices slept, or one of 
the girls borrowed a magazine from their mistress, 
and read aloud to the others. 

But Sidonie cared little for romances; she carried 


38 


SID ONI E. 


one in lier own small head, infinitely more interest- 
ing than any she could hear read. 

Nothing had obliterated her interest in the fac- 
tory. Each morning, as she passed on her father’s 
arm, she examined it carefully. At that hour the 
chimney belched forth thick volumes of black smoke. 
She heard the busy hum of the laborers, and the 
strong and rhythmical strokes of the machinery, 
and all these noises were confused in her memory, 
with the recollection of fetes and of blue coupes. 

“ The child is not looking well, Madame Chebe ; 
she must have some amusement : next Sunday we 
will all go into the country ! ” 

These parties of pleasure, arranged by the kind- 
hearted Eisler for Sidonie’s especial pleasure, only 
depressed her. In the first place, she was obliged 
to rise at four o’clock — for the poor buy all their 
pleasures very dearly. There is always something 
to be ironed at the last moment ; a trimming to sew 
on ; to rejuvenate the everlasting little lilac muslin, 
with white stripes, that Madame Chebe conscien- 
tiously lengthens each year. 

They start all together, the Chebes, and Eislers, 
and the illustrious Dellobelle. Desiree and her 
mother do not go. The delicate girl, mortified by 
her infirmity, prefers to remain in her arm-chair, 
and her mother stays with her child. Besides, she 
has no toilet in which to appear by the side of that 
great man, her husband ; she would have destroyed 
all the effect. 

At first, Sidonie was somewhat gay. Paris in 


STORY OF “LITTLE CH%BE; 


39 


the early mist of a July morning, the stations filled 
by well-dressed crowds, the country seen from the 
car- windows, the exercise and the fresh air, the per- 
fume of flowers, the green turf, all raised the young 
girl’s spirits for a few moments, but her heart soon 
grew weary as she thought of the triviality of her 
amusement. 

“It is always the same thing over and over 
again ! ” she said to herself. In fact, Sidonie found 
but one pleasure in these Sunday excursions ; and 
that consisted in feeling herself admired, even by 
the simple rustics whom she met on the road. 

Sometimes Risler, with his brother and ‘‘little 
Ch&be,” deserted the rest of their party, and wan- 
dered into the woods and meadows, to gather flowers 
and trailing branches ; these were to serve as models 
for his wall-papers. Frantz, with his long arms, 
pulled down a spray of hawthorn or climbed on 
a stone-wall to gather some wandering vine that 
pleased them by its careless grace. But it was by 
the side of a river or running stream that they found 
their richest harvest. For in the damper soil grew 
tall, flexible plants whose long, slender stems threw 
out luxuriant masses of leaves ; and reeds of a rich 
brown, or a wild convolvulus with its bunches of 
bright-blue flowers. Risler grouped his leaves, his 
buds and flowers, as if Nature alone had done it, 
tying his bouquet with a wide blade of grass, and 
hung it over Frantz’s shoulder, and on they went, 
Risler talking all the time of subjects and combina- 
tions. 


40 


SID OKIE. 


“Look,” said lie, “at that cluster of lilies of 
the valley, with its greenish hells, peeping through 
that branch of wild roses! Don’t you think it 
would have a . pretty effect on a ground of pale 
gray?” 

Sidonie cared little for lilies or roses. Wild 
flowers, were but weeds in her eyes. She remem- 
bered those in the conservatory at Grandfather Gar- 
dinois’s, and thought of the rare plants growing in 
the majolica vases on the balcony. Those were the 
only flowers she loved, so you may fancy that she 
cared little for the Country. 

These recollections of the chateau de Savigny 
came to her at each step. If they passed a park- 
gate, she cast a lingering glance up the straight 
avenue. The green lawns, shaded by tall trees, re- 
called other trees and other lawns. These glimpses 
of unattainable luxury made these excursions infi- 
nitely dreary to her. But returning home utterly 
overwhelmed her. The small stations in the vicinity 
of Baris are on such evenings fearfully crowded and 
uncomfortable. But M. Chebe was in his element ; 
he bustled about, complained of a train that was 
delayed for two or three minutes, and threatened 
loudly to call on one of the directors. “ Imagine,” 
he said in a blustering tone, “ such a thing happen- 
ing in America ! ” 

And the noble actor answered with a shrug of 
the shoulders, “ Precisely ! ” 

The single word, thanks to the wonderful talent 
of the comedian, conveyed to the gaping spectators 


STORY OF “LITTLE CHEBE 


41 


the idea that the two men had just returned from a 
voyage around the world. 

Seated by Frantz’s side, his enormous bouquet 
half in her lap, Sidonie remained for a long time 
absolutely silent ; contemplating the black masses of 
trees against the skies, a long country road, and the 
crowd that came and went occasionally through the 
glass doors of the waiting-room, the young girl 
caught a glimpse of a train that flashed by without 
stopping ; then came the one that her party was to 
take, and they hastened to find seats. How dusty 
and uncomfortable it all was ! — the tumbled, soiled 
dresses of the women, the men red and warm. A 
thick white dust obscured the one lamp, and hung 
like a mist over everything. Sidonie pushed up the 
window at her side, and fixed her eyes on the long 
rows of trees as they glided past. Soon, like count- 
less stars, they saw before them the street-lamps of 
Paris. This melancholy day of pleasure was at last 
over, and each member of the now silent party be- 
gan to think of to-morrow’s toil. Sidonie rebelled 
at this contemplation, and envied the rich, to whom 
each day brought fresh amusements ; and vaguely, 
as in a dream, peopled the fair avenues she had 
seen, with a crowd of well-dressed men and women, 
who were amusing themselves by watching the 
citizens who, in the face of heat and dust, and so 
much discomfort, had persisted in seeking a holi- 
day. 

From her thirteenth to her seventeenth birth- 
day, such was Sidonie’s monotonous life. Madame 


4:2 


SIDONIE. 


Chebe’s cashmere shawl was a trifle more worn, 
and the lilac dress was irretrievably shabby; these, 
and an additional inch to Sidonie’ s height, were, all 
the changes. Frantz now treated the girl with 
silent adoration, which she alone, of all their little 
circle, failed to detect. Nothing interested her ; she 
performed all her duties silently and mechanically. 

Frantz, on the contrary, worked with singular 
energy ; it was easy to see that he proposed to him- 
self some end and aim, and succeeded so well that 
at twenty-four he received a government appoint- 
ment. 

On the evening of that day Risler invited all the 
Chebe family to go to the theatre. lie and Madame 
Chebe exchanged a constant succession of nods and 
signs. On coming out, Madame Chebe resigned 
Sidonie to the care of Frantz with an air that seemed 
to say, “ Now, settle it all between you — it is your 
own affair.” 

And the young lover was quite ready. The 
walk was a long one, so Frantz began by speaking 
of the play. “I like those,” he said, “in which 
there is some sentiment ; don’t you, Sidonie % ” he 
asked. 

“I don’t care,” she answered, “what the play is, 
if the dresses are pretty.” 

In truth, at the theatre she thought of little else, 
and the scene simply inspired her with a wild long- 
ing for wealth and power, and she took away with 
her only new models for a dress, or for the arrange- 
ment of her hair. 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE: 


43 


The exaggerated toilets of the actresses, their 
very walk and attitudes, absurdly conventional, 
seemed to her the perfection of elegance and dis- 
tinction. The crowded house, the carriages at the 
door, all delighted her. 

Her lover continued : 

“ How well they played that love-scene 1 ” — 
and, as he uttered these words, he bent tenderly 
over the pretty little head in its white hood. 

Sidonie sighed : “ Ah ! yes, the love-scene. The 
actress wore superb diamonds.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Poor Frantz 
had some difficulty in explaining himself. The 
words he sought came not at his bidding, and he 
felt himself growing very cowardly. 

“ I will speak,” he said to himself, “ before we 
turn the next corner.” 

But Sidonie began to talk on such indifferent 
subjects that his declaration froze on his lips. 

At last he said suddenly : 

“ Listen to me, Sidonie — I love you — ” 

This same night the Dellobelles had sat up very 
late. It was the habit of these courageous women 
. to make their hours of toil as many as possible, and 
their lamp was the last to be extinguished, in their 
quiet street. They always waited for the return 
of their hero, for whom they kept a small, comfort- 
ing supper hot. 

When he was playing — years before — naturally 
and wisely enough this habit had been adopted, for 


44 


SID0N1E. 


he was obliged to dine early and lightly. But Dello- 
belle had not played for a long time ; yet, having 
no right, as he said, to relinquish the theatre, he 
carefully retained the habits it necessitated, of which 
this hot supper was by no means the least agree- 
able. To retire without it would have been to 
admit himself conquered — to relinquish the strug- 
gle ! The night of which we speak, the actor had 
not yet made his appearance. The two women were 
at work, and talking cheerfully, notwithstanding the 
lateness of the hour. All the evening they had 
talked of nothing but Frantz, of his success, and of 
their joy therein, and of the future that opened so 
brilliantly before him. 

“ And now,” said Madame Dellobelle, “ we must 
look up a nice little wife for him.” 

Such was also Desiree’s idea. “ His happiness 
would be quite certain should he marry a good little 
woman who is not afraid of work, and who would 
devote herself to him.” And Desiree spoke as if' 
she knew such a woman intimately. “ She is only 
a year younger than he,” she added, meditatively. 

u Pretty ? ” 

“Ho, not precisely,” answered the girl, slowly. 
“ But no one knows save myself how much this wom- 
an loves Frantz, and how she has thought of him for 
years and years ; while he, stupid boy, had only eyes 
for that little foolish kitten, Sidonie. But it will all 
come right some day ; love is never thrown away.” 

And the lame girl smiled softly to herself as she 
bent over her work, and started off on one of those 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CH^BE.' 


45 


marvelous journeys to an imaginary world, whence 
she always returned a happy wife on the arm of 
Frantz. Even her fingers shared the radiance of 
her dream, and the little bird whose wings she was 
spreading looked as if he had just arrived from a 
tropical land of fruit and flowers. 

The door suddenly opened. 

“ Do I disturb you ? ” asked a triumphant voice. 

The mother, half asleep, started up. 

“Ah! It is only Frantz — come in. You see 
we are waiting for papa. These artists, you know, 
are always irregular in their hours. You will wait 
and sup with him ? ” 

“ JSTo — thanks,” answered the youth, whose lips 
were still white with emotion, “ I will not wait ; I 
saw your light, and came only to tell you — to inform 
you of a great piece of news, because I know you 
love me— in short, I have come to tell you that 
Frantz Risler and Sidonie are engaged.” 

“ Just as I was saying to Desiree that you only 
needed now a little wife to be perfectly happy,” 
cried Madame Dellobelle, congratulating the young 
man heartily. 

Desiree could not speak. She bent her head 
lower over her work, and as Frantz was absorbed in 
his own happiness, and her mother had eyes only 
for the clock, no one saw the young girl’s emotion, 
nor her sudden pallor, nor noticed the violent trem- 
bling of the little bird in her fingers, whose wings 
drooped and head fell on one side like a creature 
wounded to death. 


CHAPTER IT. 


STORY CF 44 LITTLE CHEBE ” THE FIRE-FLIES OF 

S A VIGNY. 

“ Sayignt. 

“Dear Sidonie: Yesterday we were at table, 
in tbe large dining-room yon once knew so well. I 
was ont of spirits ! Grandpa had been out of tem- 
per all the morning, and mamma hardly dared to 
speak. I was thinking that it was a great pity to 
be alone there, in such a lovely spot. 

44 George comes only occasionally, and then very 
late — merely to dinner — -and returns the next morn- 
ing with my father before I am up; besides, my 
cousin has become a man of business in these days. 

44 Suddenly grandpa turned to me— 4 What has 
become of that little Sidonie ? 5 he asked, abruptly ; 
4 1 should like to see her here again.’ You may 
imagine my delight ! How much I have to tell 
you — how much to show you! You will cheer us 
up, my dear, and I assure you we all need some- 
thing of the kind. 

44 Sa vigny is only a lovely desert. In the morn- 
ing I make my toilot with the greatest care — and 
for what ? That the swans may admire me, or the 
cows, feeding in the distant meadows. Then I rush 
to my room, throw off all my finery, put on a linen 
dress, and feed the chickens and ducks. Happily 
the hunting-season is near at hand, and I look for- 
ward to that as some amusement. George and my 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHj&BE' 


47 


father will both be here more, and yon too — for you 
are going to answer at once, and tell me what day 
to expect you. M. Risler said you were not at all 
well, and the air here will do you a world of good. 

“ Every one expects you, and I am dying with 
impatience. 

“Claire .” 

Her letter was finished, and Claire Fromont put 
on her wide-brimmed hat, for the August sun was 
very hot, and went herself to place it in the little 
box on the park-gate, from which the postman 
would take it the following morning. Ho kindly 
breeze whispered in the girl’s ear a warning to pre- 
vent her sending that fatal letter, and she hurried 
back to the house to prepare for Sidonie a pretty 
room next to her own. 

The letter reached its destination, arriving in 
Paris the next morning, and was duly delivered to 
Sidonie. What an event it was ! They all read it 
over and over again, and for the next week it lay 
on the chimney-piece with Madame Chebe’s more 
precious relics of the past. To Sidonie it was like 
a romance full of enchantment and of promise. 
There was no talk of her marriage now-r-every one 
was absorbed in her toilets for the chateau ; every 
one was busy in cutting and sewing, while she her- 
self was all the time occupied in trying on her new 
dresses. Unfortunate Frantz ! How all these prep- 
arations made his heart ache ! This visit to Savigny 
would postpone his marriage. It was in vain for 
him to oppose the plan, and he saw Sidonie slipping 


48 


SIDONIE. 


each day, as it were, from his grasp. Once at Sa- 
vigny, who could say when she would return ? 

It was to the Dellobelles that the unhappy lover 
went with his melancholy forebodings ; and he never 
noticed how Desiree, as soon as he entered, made a 
place for him at her work-table, with eyes cast down 
and scarlet cheeks. 

For several days the beetles and birds had been 
laid aside. The mother and daughter were em- 
broidering some rose-colored flounces for a dress of 
Sidonie’s, and never had the lame girl sewed more 
diligently, for she inherited much of her father’s 
hopeful heart and powers of self-deception. 

While Frantz told her of his disappointment and 
of his fears, Desiree thought only that, were Sidonie 
once far away, he would fall into the habit of com- 
ing to her for consolation. Perhaps, too, a happy 
night would come when, as they sat alone waiting 
for “ papa,” Frantz would realize the difference be- 
tween a woman who adored him and one who mere- 
ly permitted herself to be adored. 

Consequently, the impatience she felt for Sido- 
nie’s departure lent to her needle such extraordi- 
nary velocity that Frantz watched the ruffles and 
ruches piling up about her with almost a feeling of 
hatred — for Sidonie’s departure was only delayed 
until the rose-colored dress was finished. When the 
last stitch was taken, Mademoiselle Chebe left for 
Savigny. The chateau, built in the time of Louis 
XV., had an air of sombre magnificence. It stood 
in the centre of a large park, and the trees surround- 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBE: 


49 


ing it were superb ; but the chief charm of the spot 
was a lovely river that ran through the grounds. 
Unfortunately, the manners and appearance of the 
present proprietors did not correspond with the 
aristocratic air of the chateau. 

The wealthy tradesman, after buying the estate 
from its impoverished owners, cut down many of 
the trees “ to open a view, 5 ’ and then built a high 
wall to keep out intruders. But his tenderest solici- 
tude was lavished on his vegetable-garden. 

Of the salon , whose white panels were finished 
in a masterly manner by the greatest painters of the 
day ; of the lake, whitened by water-lilies ; of the grot- 
toes and bridges, he thought nothing, save when his 
guests went into ecstasies over them. Advanced in 
years, he could neither hunt nor fish, and passed his 
time in superintending the most minute details of 
this enormous property. The grain with which the 
poultry was fed, the number of bundles of straw 
piled in the barn, served him to scold about for a 
long summer’s day. And certainly, when one be- 
held from afar off this beautiful spot, the shining 
river and green turf, the trees and the flowers, one 
would never have suspected the meanness and nar- 
row mind of its owner, who lived there throughout 
the year, the Fromonts spending only their summers 
with him. 

Madame Fromont was of a gentle nature, but 
dull and without cultivation, intimidated from her 
birth by her father’s brutal disposition. She was 
afraid, too, of her husband, whose goodness and con- 


50 


SID ON IE. 


stant indulgence had never succeeded in winning 
the entire confidence of his wife. Having always 
been kept in utter ignorance of business-matters, 
they had grown rich almost without her knowledge, 
and without the smallest desire on her part to profit 
by it. Her superb apartments in Paris and her 
father’s chateau were equally a burden to her. 
She always gathered her skirts about her closely, 
and made it her study to take up as little space as 
possible. She had but one passion, one pursuit in 
life: she was simply deranged on the subject of 
cleanliness and order, and brushed and dusted, pol- 
ished and ‘rubbed, everything she could get hold of. 

When she could find nothing else to clean, 
this singular woman took out her rings and chains, 
rubbed down her cameos and loosened her jewels 
from their settings. At Savigny she amused her- 
self by picking up the twigs in the avenue, by dig- 
ging out the moss between the stones with the point 
of her umbrella, and would have liked to dust the 
very leaves on the trees. 

M. Fromont had no attachment for Savigny, 
and only Claire 'loved the beautiful park. She 
knew its every corner, and had her favorite walk, 
her own tree, under the shade of which she read or 
sewed. She spent the whole day in the air, and 
went into the house only when summoned by a bell 
to her meals. In the folds of her dress lingered 
the freshness of the summer's day; and her soft, 
limpid eyes seemed to reflect the sparkle and glitter 
of the lake near which she had wandered in solitude. 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CIIEBE? 


51 


The beauty of the place elevated her thoughts 
above the vulgar routine of the day. Her grand- 
father might fret and fume before her for hours to- 
gether ; he might tell her anecdotes of the duplicity 
and indolence of the servants and tradespeople. 
Her mother might enumerate all her griefs, and 
complain of the ravages made by moths and mice, 
by dust and dampness ; but not a syllable was re- 
membered by Claire. An hour by the river-side, or 
a rapid walk on the turf, and her mind was again 
calm and her temper unsoured. 

Her grandfather regarded her as a creature 
totally out of place in his family. When a mere 
child, she annoyed him by a certain steadfast look 
in her big gray eyes, and by a way she had of set- 
tling every subject by the question, “Is that right % ” 

“ She is just like her father,” he said to himself 
one day, “ just as haughty and eccentric as he.” 

“Little Chebe” was very much more to his 
taste. In her he recognized a kindred soul, a 
nature as ambitious and unscrupulous as his own. 
The young girl flattered him in a hundred adroit 
ways. Her frank adoration for his wealth, her out- 
spoken longings for riches, were a constant delight 
to him. She amused the old man, too, by certain 
slang phrases, reserved for his hearing alone, and 
which acquired additional piquancy heard from her 
dainty lips. 

When Sidonie arrived, after a long absence 
from Savigny, with her fresh and simple costumes, 
her hair dressed in the extreme of the mode, her 


52 


SID ON IE. 


pretty figure and intelligent, mobile face, she bad a 
great success. Old Gardinois was astonished to see 
this tall young girl, instead of the child he had ex- 
pected, and thought her infinitely more attractive 
than Claire. Sidonie had both grace and style; 
but she lacked the calm beauty of her friend, the 
purity of expression, the sweetness and repose of 
manner, that characterized Claire. 

Sidonie’s grace, like her costume, was of inferior 
quality. The material was often imitation, always 
cheap, but made up in the newest style. 

The girl was radiant as she drove up the avenue. 
She had been in a dream of delight all the morning. 
She took in each luxurious detail. The liveried ser- 
vant who opened the carriage* door, the glitter of 
the dinner-table with its silver and glass, the hot- 
house flowers, even Madame Fromont’s indolent 
way of giving orders to the obsequious maid, de- 
lighted her. 

Ah! yes; this was living, indeed! This was 
the existence for which she was made ! In a day 
or two she almost forgot that she was a stranger, 
and looked on this luxury as her own. Suddenly, 
to arouse her from her dream, came a letter from 
Frantz, that recalled her to the reality of her posi- 
tion, and to the fact that she was about to marry 
a poor man who would install her in a dark and 
dreary home. 

Should she break off her marriage ? 

She could do so, of course, but might she not 
regret the step afterward ? 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CHEBEV 


53 


In that small head many singular ideas had 
taken firm root. Sometimes she contemplated 
Grandpa Gardinois, who in her honor had aban- 
doned a certain old vest and gaiters, with a very 
singular expression. “ Ah ! if he were only some 
twenty years younger ! ” she said to herself. But 
this notion of becoming Madame Gardinois did not 
last long. A new person and a new hope entered 
upon the scene. 

Since Sidonie’s arrival, George Fromont, who 
before had visited Savigny only on Sundays, had 
taken up the habit of coming daily to dinner. 

He was a tall, slender fellow, distinguished in 
appearance and manners ; an orphan, he had been 
brought up by his uncle, M. Fromont, who in- 
tended that he should be his successor in business, 
and also that he should marry Claire. This future, 
bo carefully arranged for him, deprived him of all 
ambition. From the first he disliked the manufac- 
tory ; as to his cousin, there existed between them 
a certain intimacy, arising from common tastes and 
interests, to say nothing of early companionship. 
But there was no love — on his side, at all events. 

With Sidonie he felt at once timid and anxious 
— anxious to produce a good impression, and too 
timid to succeed. She was precisely the person, 
with her studied graces, to please a nature like his ; 
and it was not long before she understood the cards 
she. held in her hands. 

When the two young girls sat on the bank of 
the river, it was always Sidonie who listened for 


54 


SID 0 NIK 


the whistle of the coming train, and George’s first 
look was for her who remained a little in the back- 
ground, but who, by her studied attitude and con- 
spicuous costume, seemed to demand attention. 
There was no word of love between the two, but 
every smile and glance was full of silent avowals 
and encouragement. 

One heavy, lowering evening — the air was full 
of rain and the heat very oppressive — the two 
friends left the table as soon as dinner was over, and 
paced up and down the avenue. George joined 
them and the three chatted on indifferent subjects, 
while the sand and pebbles grated under their slow 
steps. Madame Fromont called Claire, and George 
and Sidonie were left alone. They continued to 
walk together in the darkness, their only guide be- 
ing the white gravel of the path. They did not 
speak to each other. 

A damp soft wind blew in their faces. The lit- 
tle lake rippled and dashed in minute waves against 
the arches of the stone bridge. The acacias and 
lime-trees filled the air with their perfume, and a 
cloud of their blossoms fell around them. The air 
was full of electricity; they felt it, too, within 
themselves ; their eyes flashed, as did the lightning 
on the distant horizon. 

“ Look at those lovely fire-flies ! ” cried the young 
girl, embarrassed by the long silence. 

All over the lawn glittered the small, greenish 
lights. She stooped to take one on her finger. 

He came and knelt at her side ; close together 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CIIEBE: 


55 


they bent over the turf, and looked at each other by 
the light of the fire-flies. How strange and lovely 
she was in that singular reflection which illuminated 
her forehead and rippling hair ! He threw one arm 
around her, and, suddenly feeling that she yielded 
to his embrace, he pressed a long kiss on her lips, 

“ What are you looking for \ ” asked Claire from 
the deep shadow behind them. 

George could not speak, but Sidonie rose from 
her knees with the greatest calmness, saying, as she 
shook out her skirts : 

“Fire-flies only — see how many there are to- 
night, and how they glitter ! ” 

Her eyes glittered, too, with extraordinary brill- 
iancy. 

“ It is the coming storm, probably,” murmured 
.George, still struggling to restrain his emotion. 

In fact, the storm was close at hand. In a 
moment a whirlwind of dust and dead leaves flew 
from one end of the avenue to the other. All three 
ran into the house. 

George tried to read a paper, while Madame 
Fromont cleaned her rings ; the young ladies occu- 
pied themselves with their embroidery; and M. 
Gardinois played a game of billiards in the next 
room with his son-in-law. 

How long this evening seemed to Sidonie ! She 
had but one desire, and that was to be alone, free to 
think her own thoughts. But in the silence and 
darkness of her own room what transports of joy 
filled her soul! George loved her— George Fro- 


56 


SIB 0 NIK 


mont, the heir of the great firm ! They would be 
married, and she should be rich. For in this little 
venal nature the first kiss of love had awakened 
only thoughts of ambition and luxury. 

In order to assure herself of her lover’s sinceri- 
ty, she tried to remember each detail of the brief 
scene in the avenue — the expression of his eyes, 
the ardor of his embrace, and the words that he ut- 
tered as he pressed his lips to hers. Ah ! why had 
not the fire-flies shown her his heart as well as his 
eyes? All night they danced before her closed 
eyes; the park was full of them. Sleepless she 
looked from the window — the very air was radiant 
with the tiny creatures, and she fancied them fairy 
torches assembled to do honor to the marriage of 
George and herself. 

The next day when she rose her plans were # 
complete. George loved her — that much was cer- 
tain. Would he marry her? Of that our little 
worldling was by no means sure ; but that doubt 
did not alarm her. She understood the nature with 
which she had to deal, and was convinced that the 
proper amount of resistance would enable her to 
manage the affair much as she pleased. 

For some days she was cool and absent — volun- 
tarily blind and deaf. He wished to speak to her, 
but she avoided him. At last he wrote. 

He should hope, he said, to find a reply in a fis- 
sure in a rock at the extreme end of the park. 

Sidonie found this idea delightful. That even- 
ing it was necessary for her to equivocate and ma« 


STORY OF “ LITTLE CJIEBE. 


57 


noeuvre so that she might go alone to the designated 
spot, where she hoped to find a note instead of de- 
positing one. 

She was not mistaken. She found a letter damp 
with the dews of the evening, and so white in the 
darkness that she hid it quickly lest she should be 
surprised. 

Then, when she was alone, what joy to open it — 
to decipher its minute characters, to see the words 
that to her dazzled vision seemed to be surrounded 
with blue and yellow circles, as when one gazes at 
the sun in noonday ! 

“ I love you ! — Love me ! ” wrote George. 

At first she did not answer ; but, when she felt 
that the game was hers, she wrote simply, u I will 
love no man but my husband.” 


CHAPTER V. 


HOW “LITTLE CHEBe’s ” STORY ENDS. 

September arrived, and with it a large number 
of guests at the ch&teau. They were mostly vulgar 
rich people, and among them no one who especially 
interested Sidonie. The days were beginning to 
shorten perceptibly, and the evenings were damp 
and chilly, so that the sportsmen were glad to drive 
back in their carriages, and, after a hurried toilet, 
assembled in the well-lighted drawing-rooms. 

Claire Eromont was very reserved and quiet, 
annoyed by the distasteful assembly in which she 
found herself. But Sidonie was quite in her ele- 
ment. Her complexion and eyes were more than 
ordinarily brilliant, and the admiration of the people 
about her was very openly displayed. Her success 
finished George’s infatuation ; but the more he ad- 
vanced the more she retreated. From that moment 
he swore she should be his wife. He swore it to 
himself with that exaggeration of repetition which 
characterizes those weak natures who determine to 
fight in advance with those objections to which they 
are conscious that one day they will yield. 

This was the most glorious moment of “ little 


HOW “ LITTLE CHORE'S ” STORY ENDS. 59 


Chebe’s” life. For, above and beyond her ambitions 
projects, her insincere and coquettish nature prized 
this clandestine love-affair that she was bringing to 
so triumphant a conclusion. 

~No one suspected anything of it. Claire was at 
that healthy and charming season of youth when 
the mind, but half developed, sees only what is 
spread widely open, and suspects no concealments 
or treachery. M. Fromont thought of his business, 
his wife of the dust among her jewels. It was only 
M. Gardinois whom Sidonie feared, and, “ after 
all, if he were to suspect anything,’’ she said to her- 
self, “ he is not the man to betray me.” She tri- 
umphed, when suddenly a catastrophe, totally un- 
foreseen and unsuspected, came to destroy all her 
hopes. 

One morning M. Fromont was brought in mor- 
tally wounded ; he had received the full charge of 
his own fowling-piece in his temple. The chateau 
was in confusion, and the party dispersed in every 
direction. Claire, crazy with grief, was in her father’s 
room, when Risler, informed of the catastrophe, 
came to take Sidonie away. On this last j evening 
she had a final interview with George — an inter- 
view saddened and solemnized by the near presence 
of death. They promised to love each other always, 
and agreed on some plan of correspondence, and 
then they separated. 

Sidonie returned home under the care of Risler, 
who was in despair; for the death of his master 
and friend was to him an irretrievable loss. She 


CO 


SIDONIE. 


was compelled to give to her mother and the Delh> 
belles each detail of her visit, to enumerate the fetes 
and the toilets, and, finally, to describe the sad dis- 
aster at the end. The pain and agony this cost 
her no one ever knew, nor her longing for silence 
and solitude. 

Frantz took his old place at her side, and his 
words and tender looks drove her nearly mad ; 
for the youth naturally claimed certain rights as 
her accepted and impatient lover, and Sidonie 
shrank from even the touch of his hand. The day 
arrived at last, however, when indecision was no 
longer possible. She had promised to marry Frantz 
when his salary was raised. He came to announce 
that this was now done. She must marry him, or 
give him a reason for her refusal. In this dilemma 
she thought of Desiree. Although the lame girl had 
never opened her heart to her, Sidonie thoroughly 
comprehended her love for Frantz. Had the cir- 
cumstances been different, the knowledge, perhaps, 
that another woman loved her fiance would have 
made him more endurable to Mademoiselle Chebe. 
Just as we place statues on tombs to render them 
less sad, so did the pale, pretty face of Desiree on the 
threshold of Sidonie’s dismal future make it appear 
less dreary and hopeless. 

But now she grasped at this, as furnishing an 
easy pretext for releasing herself from her promise. 

“ It is impossible, mamma,” she said, one day ; 
“ I will never consent to make Desiree so unhappy. 
Have you not noticed that, ever since my return, 


HOW “LITTLE CHEBE'S ” STORY ENDS. 61 


she has been pale and sad, and that she watches me 
with eyes full of entreaty and reproach? No, I 
will not do her this wrong. Poor Desiree ! ” Al- 
though Madame Chebe admired her daughter’s kind 
and generous heart, she thought the sacrifice too 
great for her to make. 

“.Take care, my child ! we are poor, and a 
man like Frantz does not present himself every 
day.” 

“ So much the worse, then, for me ! At all events 
I will not marry him,” cried Sidonie, and repeated 
her words without wavering to Frantz himself. lie 
grew angry, as she would give no reasons, either to 
him or to his brother, though her mother whispered 
mysteriously to the elder brother that she was 
oroud of her daughter, and added, under a promise 
of secrecy, that it was on Desiree’s account. 

“ Do not utter a word of reproach, my boy,” 
said Eisler to Frantz ; “ she is an angel.” 

“ Yes, an angel ! ” sighed Madame Ch&be, in 
such a way that the poor fellow decided to leave 
Paris, and he immediately sought and obtained a 
position at Ismailia, on the works at the isthmus 6f 
Suez. He departed, knowing nothing of Desiree’s 
dfection, and yet, when he went to bid her farewell, 
her love was plainly to be read in her clear blue 
eyes. Fortunately, some suffering souls are endowed 
with infinite patience. Her friend gone, the lame 
girl, with the courage and hope inherited from her 
father, toiled on industriously, saying to herself 
with a gentle smile, “ I will wait ! ” and from that 


62 


SIDONIE. 


moment her birds’ wings were widely spread, as if 
they were about to take flight to Egypt them* 

selves. 

From Marseilles Frantz wrote to Sidonie a last 
letter — a letter at once comical and touching ; a 
singular combination of reproaches and tenderness, 
mixed with the most commonplace details of the 
vessel in which he was to sail. 

Sidonie, however, cared little for this ; she nei- 
ther laughed nor cried at this letter, for many other 
things filled her head. She had become very anx- 
ious over George’s silence. Since she had left Sa- 
vigny, she had not received one line from him ; her 
own letters elicited no response. It was true that 
she had learned from Eisler that George was occu- 
pied day and night, for his uncle’s death had thrown 
more responsibility upon him than he was prepared 
for ; but not to Write one word — 1 

From the window in the corridor, where she had 
again resumed her silent watches (for she had re- 
linquished her position at Mademoiselle La Mire’s), 
Sidonie caught many a glimpse of her lover ; she 
saw him going in and out of the manufactory, and 
in the evening watched him enter his carriage to be 
driven to the train that was to take him to Savigny, 
where his aunt and cousin were passing the first 
months of their mourning. 

All this terrified her ; and, above all, the prox- 
imity of the factory rendered her more sensible of 
the real distance between herself and her lover. 
She could almost make him hear the sound of her 


HOW “ LITTLE C HEBE'S ” STORY ENDS c03 


voice ; only a few stone-walls divided them ; and 
yet, how far off lie was ! 

One snowy night that winter Risler entered 
Madame Chebe’s apartment. “ News ! ” he said, 
u great news ! ” George Fromont had just informed 
him that, in obedience to his uncle’s last wishes, he 
was about to marry his cousin Claire^ and that, as it 
was impossible for him to carry on the business 
alone, he had resolved to take him into partnership, 
giving to the new firm the name “ Fromont & 3£is- 
ler.” 

Sidonie never knew whence came the strength 
that enabled her to keep her secret, when she learned 
that the manufactory had eluded her grasp, and that 
another woman was about to take her place. What 
a miserable evening ! Madame Chebe sat at the 
table before a huge basket of household linen, while 
her husband was in front of the fire. The lamp 
burned badly ; the room was cold, and an odor of 
cooking hung about it ; but Risler was gay, intoxi- 
cated, in fact, with joy. 

For many a long day Sidonie lay ill, dangerous- 
ly ill. As the sick girl lay in her bed and heard 
her windows rattle behind her curtains, she fancied 
that the carriages rolling past were bearing Claire 
and George to their wedding. This fancy brought 
on paroxysms of nervous weeping, which puzzled 
her nurses and physicians. 

Finally, her youth and good constitution tri- 
umphed, and, thanks to the tender care of her 
mother and Desiree, who by this time had learned 


64 


SID 0 NIB. 


the sacrifice that had been made for her, Sidonie 
rose from her sick-bed ; but the girl was out of spir- 
its and weary of her life. Sometimes she talked of 
traveling, of leaving Paris ; at other times she de- 
cided to enter a convent. All her friends watched 
her tenderly, more anxious about her now than they 
had been when her ailment had been merely physi- 
cal. Suddenly she acknowledged her secret to her 
mother. She loved the elder Risler ; she had never 
dared to say so, but it was he whom she had always 
loved, and not his brother. Everybody was wonder- 
struck at this, Risler more than any one else ; but the 
young girl was so pale and so pretty, she looked at 
him with such tender eyes, that it was not long be- 
fore the good fellow worshiped the very ground on 
which she stood. Perhaps, too, this affection had 
only lain dormant in the dim recesses of his heart. 

And now, dear reader, you understand why, on 
the evening of her marriage-day, Madame Risler, in 
her glistening white raiment, looked forth with a 
smile of triumph at the window where for the last 
ten years she had passed so many sad and lonely 
hours. That haughty, contemptuous smile was evi- 
dently bestowed on the poor child whom she fancied 
she saw opposite through the darkness of the night 
and of the past. 

“What are you saying, little Chebe ? ” mur- 
mured Sidonie. “ You see I am here, after all.” 


BOOK II. 


CHAPTER I. 

“my wife’s eeception-day.” 

The manufactory-bell has just rung ; it is noon, 
and mothers hurry home to their babies, having an 
hour of leisure, while Risler and his young partner, 
George Fromont, stroll leisurely through the gar- 
den toward the pretty home they occupy under the 
same roof. They are talking earnestly on their 
business-affairs. 

“You must look out,” said Fromont, “or we 
shall find the Prochassons dangerous rivals.” 

Bisler had no fears ; he knew his own strength, 
and had had vast experience. “ Then, too,” he add- 
ed — “ but this is confidential — I am on the track 
of a new invention that will be a fortune in itself.” 
By this time they had crossed the carefully-kept 
garden, with its acacias almost as old as the house 
itself, and its superb ivies that veiled the heavy 
walls. 

By Fromont’s side Risler looked like a clerk ren- 
dering an account of the day’s transactions. He 
stopped every few steps to finish a sentence, for his 


SID 0 NIK 


m 

words came slowly. He had no idea that a pretty 
face was looking at him through the curtains of a 
window in the upper story. 

Madame Bisler was waiting for her husband to 
come to lunch, and was very impatient at his delay. 
She beckoned to him, but Risler did not see her. 
He was occupied with the Fromont baby, who was 
taking the air in the arms of her nurse, a mass of 
lace and ribbons. How pretty the little creature 
Was t w Your very image, Madame George ! ” 

c/ Do you think so ? And yet almost every one 
thinks her more like her father ! ” 

cc She resembles him, of course ; but — ” and all 
of them— father, mother, Eisler, and the nurse — 
gravely examine the atom of humanity, who looks 
at them, in turn, with wide-open, wondering eyes. 
Sidonie bends from her open window, to see what 
they are all doing, and why her husband does not 
come up. 

Bisler had just taken the infant into his own 
arms, and stood, enveloped in the floating robes and 
blue ribbons, trying to win a smile or a eoo of de- 
light from the child. He looked like its grand- 
father. “ How old the poor man is growing!” 
thought Sidonie ; “ and how absurd he looks play- 
ing with that baby ! ” At last, tired of waiting, she 
sent her maid to say that lunch was waiting. Hisler 
Consigned the infant to its nurse with evident re- 
gret, and ran up the staircase, laughing like a school- 
boy. He laughs still as he enters the dining-room, 
but one look at his wife checks his merriment. She 


“MY WIFE'S reception-day: 


67 


was seated at the table, a chafing-dish in front of 
her ; he knew that she was thoroughly out of tem- 
per by her martyr-like air. 

“ You decided to come, then. It is very fortu 
nate ! ” Risler seated himself somewhat abashed. 

“ I could not help it, my dear ; that child is so — ” 

“ How often am I to beg you not to call me c my 
dear?’” 

“ But if we are alone ? ” 

“You can never understand anything,” answered 
his wife, impatiently; “and the result is that no 
one respects me here. Even the gardener, Achille, 
hardly lifts his hat when I pass him. To be sure, 
I am not a Fromont, and I have no carriage ! ” 

“ But, my dear— I beg your pardon — I mean — 
you can always use Madame George’s coupe. She 
has told you that it is always at your disposal.” 

“ And how often am I to tell you that I will not 
place myself under any obligations to that woman ? ” 

“ O Sidonie ! ” 

“ Yes, I understand. I must not breathe a word 
against this doll. I must allow her to tread me 
under her feet ! ” 

“ My child ! ” and poor Kisler tries to soothe his 
wife, and to say a few words in favor of his dear 
Madame George. His success was not enviable ; for 
suddenly Sidonie burst out in a torrent of indignant 
words 

“ I tell you, in spite of her tranquil air and saint- 
like expression, that woman is haughty and mali- 
cious. She detests me, and I know it. When I was 


SIB 0 NIK 



little Sidonie, to whom she could toss her broken 
playthings and cast-off clothing, I was all very well. 
But now that I have a good position, and need no 
assistance from her, too, she wishes to humiliate me 
at every turn. She presumes to volunteer her ad- 
vice, and to criticise my every act. She was kind 
enough, too, to express her astonishment at my en- 
gaging a maid — naturally — for had I not always 
been accustomed to waiting on myself? She seeks 
every opportunity to hurt and wound me. When I 
present myself on her reception-day, you should 
hear the condescending tone in which she asks for 
dear Madame Chebe ! Ah, well ! Yes, I am a 
Chebe, and she a Fromont. My grandfather was a 
druggist, and hers a money-lender and a peasant ! 
I shall tell her so some fine day, and shall also take 
occasion to mention that the little girl of whom she 
is so proud is the living image of old Gardinois, and 
Heaven knows that he is no beauty ! ” 

“ My child ! ” gasped Easier, who could find no 
words to answer such a tirade. 

“Yes, admire that baby if you choose! It is 
always ill, and cries half the night, and keeps me 
awake. In the morning the mother’s piano begins.” 

Eisler adopted the wisest course^-he said not 
one syllable in reply. But after a while, when he 
saw that his wife was calmer, and looking a little 
ashamed of her outbreak, he began to say a few 
complimentary words to her. 

“ That is a very pretty costume. Are you going 
to pay visits to-day ? ” 


“ J&F WIFE'S REOEPTI ON-DA TP 69 

“Ho, I am not going out,” answered Sidonie. 
M On the contrary, I receive. This is my day . 55 

Seeing her husband’s look of ntter astonishment, 
she continued: “ Yes, it is my day. Why should I 
not have a day as well as Madame Fromont ?” 

“ Without doubt — certainly,” muttered poor Ris- 
ler, looking about him anxiously. “ That is the reason, 
then, that there are so many flowers in the rooms ? ” 
“ Yes. This morning, when I sent Justine into 
the garden — I am wrong again, then, am I ? You 
do not say so, but I can see that you think I had no 
right to send Justine for flowers. I thought the 
garden belonged to us as well as to the Fromonts? ” 
“It does, certainly; hut it would have been 
better — ” 

“ To ask for them — I suppose — of course. Pile 
on the humiliations, I beg of you ! A few miser- 
able chrysanthemums, and some green branches, are 
worth asking for, are they not? At all events, I 
took them openly, and when she comes up by-and- 
by I will show them to her.” 

“ She is coming, then ? How good of her ! ” 
Sidonie started up in a rage. 

“ Good of her ! And why, pray ? Do I not go 
every Wednesday to her rooms, where I am bored 
to death by her attitudes and affectations ? ” 

Madame Risler omitted to state that these same 
Wednesdays had been of immense service to her — 
that they were like a weekly journal des modes , 
where she had been taught how to enter and leave a 
room — how to receive and dismiss a guest — where 


70 


SIDONIE. 


to place her flowers. H or did Sidonie say that 
Claire’s friends, of whom she had spoken so disdain- 
fully, were the persons whom she had begged to 
come to her on her day. 

But would they come? That remained to be 
proved. And would young Madame Fromont her- 
self fail to make her appearance? Sidonie grew 
more and more disturbed and anxious as the day 
went on. “ Hurry ! ” she cried, impatiently ; 66 how 
long you are to-day over the lunch-table ! ” 

One of Risler’s habits was to eat slowly, and 
smoke his pipe at table over his coflee. But to-day 
he was robbed of these dear delights. His pipe 
must not be taken from its case, on account of its 
villainous odor, and his last mouthful was swallowed 
in a violent hurry, as he must change his dress, so 
that he might present himself to the ladies, in his 
wife’s salon , later in the day. 

What a sensation in the factory, when Risler was 
seen to enter on a week-day in a black coat and white 
tie ! 

“ Are you going to a wedding ? ” cried the cashier, 
Sigismond. And Itisler answered, not without pride : 

“ Hot at all. It is my wife’s day ! ” 

Soon every one knew that it was Sidonie’s re- 
ception-day ; and Achille, the gardener, was thor- 
oughly out of temper because the laurel at the gate 
had been robbed of its best branches. 

Seated at his drawing-board, under the high 
window, Bisler had thrown aside his coat and turned 
up his fresh cuffs. But the consciousness that his 


“MY WIFE'S reception-day: 


71 


wife expects company disturbs him, and occasion- 
ally he puts on his coat and mounts the private stairs 
to ascertain how things are going. 

“No one here yet ? ” he asks, timidly. 

“ No one, sir.” 

In the red drawing-room — for they have a salon 
furnished in red damask — Sidonie is installed on a 
low couch — several arm-chairs in front of her, a 
small table at her side, on which lie a book or two, 
a work-basket, and a bunch of violets. All is ar- 
ranged exactly as at the Fromonts’, on the story 
below. But the indefinable good taste which char- 
acterizes all Claire’s belongings is lacking in Si 
dome’s rooms. The mistress of the house is too 
elaborately dressed ; her costume is too new — she 
has rather the air of paying a visit than of receiving 
one. But, in Risler’s eyes, everything is superb. 
He began to say so as he entered the room, but his 
wife’s frown intimidated him. 

“ You see,” she said, pointing to the clock, an- 
grily, “ it is four o’clock — no one will come now. 
But Claire’s impertinence is unpardonable; she is 
at home, for I heard her come in ! ” 

In fact, ever since noon Sidonie had heard every 
sound in the house — the child’s cry, and the lullaby 
of the nurse. Hot a door had opened or shut with- 
out Madame Risler’s perceiving it. Risler wished 
to retreat, and thus avoid hearing the old com- 
plaints, but his wife objected. 

“ You, at least,” she said, “ might remain, since 
all the rest of the world shuns me I ” So the poor 


72 


SIB ONI K 


fellow, miserable and nervous, stood glued at a 
window, feeling very much like a person who 
dares not move during a thunder-shower lest he 
should attract the lightning to his own defenseless 
head. 

Sidonie moves about restlessly, shifts a chair, 
and finally pulls the bell violently. “ Ask Achille 
if no one has come for me to-day.” As the ser- 
vant turned to obey her, Madame Risler continued 
to her husband, “ Achille is so stupid, and so 
hateful, that he has probably told people that I 
am out.” 

But no, Achille had seen no one. 

Silence and consternation fall on the inmates of 
the pretty, flower-scented room. Sidonie follows 
her husband’s example and takes up a position in 
another window. Both look down on the garden, 
dimly seen through the gathering twilight. Sigis- 
mond’s lamp is already lighted, and his long shadow 
wavers on the ceiling of the counting-room. 

Suddenly a coupe drives up to the door — from 
it emerges a mass of lace and velvet, jet and 
furs — and Sidonie recognizes one of Claire’s most 
fashionable friends. A visitor at last ! So the 
little household falls into position. The gentle- 
man leans idly on the mantel, and the lady in her 
low chair carelessly turns over the leaves of a new 
book. 

The attitudes were thrown away ; the visit was 
not for Sidonie — the lady’s call was for the floor 
below ! 


MY WIFE'S RECEPTION-DAY: 


73 


All ! if Madame George could but have heard 
the denunciations of herself and her friend ! 

At this moment, the door was thrown open, and 
Mademoiselle Planus was announced. This lady 
was the cashier’s maiden sister — a sweet and gentle 
old lady, who came as a matter of duty to pay a 
visit to the wife of her brother’s employer, and who 
was overwhelmed with amazement at the warmth 
of the welcome she received. Sidonie was very gra- 
cious, happy to show herself in all her glory to a 
former acquaintance. She talked and laughed gayly, 
that Madame George might know that she had vis- 
itors ; and, when the lady went away, Sidonie ac- 
companied her to the head of the stairs, with a 
great rustling of flounces and a sharp click of high- 
heeled boots, and called out loudly that she was al- 
ways at home on Fridays. 

Now it is night. In the next room the table is 
being laid for dinner. Madame Fromont will not 
come, and Sddonie is white with indignation. “We 
are too insignificant for your idol to visit,” she said, 
“ but I will revenge myself in some way ! ” And, 
as she raised her voice angrily, her intonation lost 
its refinement, and betrayed Mademoiselle La Mire’s 
apprentice. 

Kisler murmured : “ Who can tell what the rea- 
son is ? The child may be ill.” 

She turned fiercely upon him. 

“ It is your fault entirely,” she cried ; “ you have 
taught your friends to neglect and insult me.” And 
the door of her sleeping-room was shut with such 

4 


74 


SID0N1E. 


violence that the crystal globes rattled, and all the 
trifles on the etagere danced about. Poor Itisler, 
left alone in the middle of the salon , contemplated 
his varnished boots and black coat with disgust, and 
murmured, mechanically : 

“ My wife’s day l ” 


CHAPTER II. 


REAL PEARL, AND IMITATION PEARL. 

“ W hat is the matter? What have I done to 
her ? ” asked Claire of herself, as she thought of 
Sidonie. She was absolutely ignorant of all that 
had passed between her friend and Q-eorge at Sa- 
vigny. With her straightforward nature, it was 
impossible for her to imagine the jealousy and low 
ambitions that had grown up at her side, and yet 
her former friend’s cold and disdainful air disturbed 
the calmness of her daily life. 

To a polite reserve, singular enough from a pep- 
son whom she had known so intimately, suddenly 
succeeded an air of angry contempt, before which 
Claire stood as helpless and silent as before a mathe- 
matical problem. Sometimes, too, a vague presenti- 
ment assailed her — a suggestion of possible unhap- 
piness — for women are always more or less clear- 
sighted, and even those most innocent and unsus- 
picious have wonderful intuitions. Oceasionally, 
Madame Fromont would wonder at Sidonie’s com 
duct, but her own life was so full of tender cares for 
husband, child, and mother, that she had little time 
to spare for Sidonie’s caprices. Had she been stil) 


76 


SID OMR 


unmarried, this sudden destruction of an old friend- 
ship would have pained her intensely ; hut now all 
was changed ; even Sidonie’s marriage had not 
astonished her. Risler was too old, certainly ; but 
what did it matter, if his wife loved him ? 

As to being vexed that “ little Chebe ” had 
reached her present position, such an idea had never 
entered Claire’s mind. Her nature was too gener- 
ous for such baseness. She had, on the contrary, 
hoped sincerely that this young woman, who had lived 
under the same roof as herself, would be happy and 
contented in her new position. In the most affec- 
tionate manner she sought to advise her, and to in- 
struct her in the ways of the world to w T hich she 
was as yet a stranger. 

Between two women, equally pretty and equally 
young, advice is easily exchanged. When Madame 
Fromont, on the day of a great dinner, took Madame 
Bisler into her dressing-room, and said in a caress- 
ing tone, “ Too many jewels, dear ; and then, you 
know, with a high-necked dress, one should never 
wear flowers in the hair,” Sidonie colored, thanked 
her friend, but in her heart of hearts inscribed a 
new grief against her. 

In Claire’s circle Sidonie had been coolly re- 
ceived. The Faubourg St.-GermaliT has its preten- 
sions, but, if you imagine that the mercantile com- 
munity are without them, you are greatly mistaken. 

These wives and daughters of rich merchants 
knew little Chebe’s story, and, had they not known 
it, they would have guessed it from her way of pre- 


REAL PEARL , AND IMITATION PEARL. 77 


senting herself to their notice. She was too eager 
and too humble, and about her lingered something 
of the air of a shop-girl ; and her occasional disdain- 
ful attitudes recalled the young women in black 
silk, in a millinery establishment, who are absolutely 
imposing from the height of the puffs and curls on 
thek* heads, and who look with utter contempt on 
the ignorant persons who attempt to make a bargain. 

Sidonie felt herself criticised and examined, and 
she prepared for battle. The names pronounced in 
her presence — the fetes — and the books of which 
they talked — were equally unknown to her. 

Claire did her best to place her at her ease. 

Among these ladies, several thought Sidonie 
very pretty, too pretty to belong to their circle; 
others, proud of their wealth, and of the success of 
their husbands, found it easy to be insolently con- 
descending to the little parvenue ; Sidonie, however, 
included them all in her sweeping phrase : “ If they 
are Glaire’s friends, they are my enemies,*’ she said, 
with infinite bitterness. 

The two men suspected nothing of what was 
going on between their wives. Risler — absorbed in 
his new invention — sat half the night at his draw- 
ing-board. Fromont passed his days out of his 
house, breakfasted and often dined at his club, and 
was rarely seen at the factory. In fact, Sidonie’s 
vicinity troubled him. The passionate caprice he 
had had for her, and which he had relinquished at 
his uncle’s bidding, still haunted his memory ; and, 
feeling his own weakness, he sought safety in flight. 


SID ON IK 


tf* 

The night of Kisleris marriage, when he himself 
was a bridegroom of but a few months, he had found 
that he could not meet Sidonie with impunity. 
From that moment he avoided her society, and never 
by any chance did her name pass his lips. 

Unfortunately, as they lived in the same house, 
as the ladies exchanged a dozen visits each day, the 
prospect of meeting her was always before him. 
Thus it came to pass that the young husband, de- 
termined to do no wrong, felt compelled to leave 
his home, and seek a refuge elsewhere. Claire ac- 
cepted this life as inevitable ; her father had accus- 
tomed her to incessant though short “ trips on 
business ; ” and during her husband’s absence she in- 
vented for herself new pursuits and home duties. 

Sidonie went out a good deal. Often, toward 
night, just as she was entering her garden-gate in 
a superb toilet, George’s carriage would dash past 
her. Shopping, for the mere pleasure of spending 
money, Was one of her favorite amusements, and so 
occupied her that she was often detained much later 
than she had intended. They exchanged a cool bow 
at the turn of the staircase, and George hurried into 
his Own rooms, hiding his emotion under the caresses 
he lavished on the little girl who stretched forth 
her arms to greet him. Sidonie seemed to have 
totally forgotten the past ; or, if she recalled it at 
times, it was with a natural contempt for a character 
bo unlike her own. Her time, too, was entirely oc- 
cupied. After some hesitation, she had decided to 
take leseons in singing, thinking that it was rather 


REAL PEARL , AND IMITATION PEARL. 79 


late in life to begin the piano ; and, twice each 
week, Madame Dobson, a pretty, sentimental blonde, 
gave her a lesson, from twelve to one o’clock. This 
lesson heard through the open windows, and the con- 
stant practice of scales, gave to the house something 
of the air of a boarding-school ; but Sidonie had 
said to herself : “ Claire plays the piano ; she passes 
for an elegant and distinguished woman ; I am de- 
termined that the world shall say as much for me.” 
The poor child did not dream of study, or of real 
improvement in any way ; she passed her life in the 
shops, and with her milliner and dress-maker. 

Of those imitation pearls which she had handled 
for so long a time, something still clung to her — a 
little of their brilliancy without depth, of their pale 
lustre, and of their fragility. She was herself an 
imitation pearl, fair and brilliant; but Claire Fro- 
mont was a real jewel, a deep-sea pearl, and, when 
the two women were together, it was easy to dis- 
tinguish the Parisian imitation from the natural 
growth. 

Of all Claire’s surroundings, the one which Si- 
donie most envied her was her infant — a dainty 
mass of ribbons and lace. She had no thought of 
sweet maternal duties — no knowledge of Claire’s 
long hours of wakefulness — of anxious watches and 
tender hopes. She never longed for the touch of 
dimpled fingers, or dreamed of glad awakenings, 
merry shouts, and splashing water. 1ST o mother-in- 
stinct was aroused within her empty heart ; she sim- 
ply regarded the child, with its flowing robes, in the 


80 


SID ON IE. 


arms of its tail-capped nurse, as a charming acces- 
sory to her morning walks and spring toilets. 

She had only her parents or her husband as 
companions, consequently she preferred to go out 
alone. Her husband mortified her by his awkward 
caresses, and a habit he had of tapping her like a 
child on her cheek, or of taking her by the chin. 
His very way of sitting and looking at her enraged 
her — it was so like an affectionate dog I Her parents 
she had managed to dispose of for the time being, 
by inducing her husband to rent for them a little 
house at Montrouge. This had put an end to M. 
Chebe’s frequent invasions, and to the interminable 
visits of her mother, who, cheered by her daughter’s 
good fortune, was gradually falling into idle habits. 
Sidonie would have much liked to get rid of the 
Dolobelles ; she was annoyed by their living so near 
her. But the old actor was not easily moved from 
a situation that he liked, having the theatres and 
the boulevards so close at hand. Then Desiree was 
attached to their rooms, and their dingy court — dark 
at four o’clock — was to her like the familiar face of 
a friend. Sidonie rarely saw her old neighbors, 
however, and her life would have been solitary 
enough if it had not been for the amusements that 
Claire procured for her. Each of these, however, 
was a new injury, and she said to herself, “ Must I 
always be indebted to her ? ” 

And when, at the dinner-table, they sent her 
tickets for the theatre, or an invitation for the even- 
ing, even while she hurried to dress, she thought 


REAL PEARL , AND IMITATION PEARL. 81 


only of crushing her rival. These occasions, how- 
ever, became more and more infrequent, for Claire 
was much occupied with her child. When her 
grandfather came to Paris, he never failed to bring 
them all together. He invited them to dine at 
some famous restaurant, expended a vast deal of 
money, and then took them to the theatre. 

He talked familiarly to the waiters at the res- 
taurant, laughed loudly at the theatre, and made 
their party as conspicuous as possible. On the oc- 
casion of these somewhat vulgar festivities, which 
George contrived sometimes to avoid, Claire dressed 
very quietly, and thus escaped observation ; Sidonie, 
on the contrary, made a gorgeous toilet, took a 
front-seat in the box, and enjoyed the coarse jests 
of the old peasant. She looked at herself in the 
mirrors, and, with an air of proprietorship, placed her 
opera-glass, handkerchief, and fan, on the red velvet 
in front of her. The commonplace glitter of these 
public places enchanted her, and she accepted them 
as the epitome of luxury ; she bloomed therein, like 
a pretty paper flower in a filigree garden. 

One evening at the Palais Royal, when a great 
crowd assembled to witness a new play, among all the 
women present — painted celebrities, with powdered 
hair and enormous fans — Sidonie attracted the most 
attention. All the opera-glasses in the house, influ- 
enced by a certain magnetism, were one by one 
directed to her box. Claire was infinitely annoyed, 
and finally relinquished her chair to her husband 
and took refuge in the back of their box. 


82 


SID ON IE. 


George, young and very distinguished in appear* 
ance, had, at Sidonie’s side, the air of her husband , 
while Kisler, older and graver, looked as if he be- 
longed to Claire, who in her dark and quiet costume 
had the air of a woman who desired to escape obser- 
vation. 

Going out, each took the arm of her neighbor, 
and a little grisette , commenting loudly on Sidonie’s 
appearance, used the words “her husband” — and 
■Ehe foolish little woman was in a glow of delight. 
“ Her husband ! ” These simple words sufficed to 
awaken a crowd of wicked thoughts and plans, that 
for some time had slept quietly in the recesses of 
her nature. She looked at Hisler and at Claire as 
they walked in front. Madame Fromont’s quiet 
elegance seemed dowdiness to her distorted vision. 
She said to herself, “ How vulgar I must look when 
I have my husband’s arm ! ” and her heart beat 
more quickly as she thought of the distinguished- 
looking pair she and George Fromont would have 
made. And when she saw Claire and her husband 
enter the well-known blue cowpe , she allowed her- 
self to dwell on the idea that Claire had stolen her 
place, and that she had a right to take it again if 
she could. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLONDEL. 

Ever since his marriage, Risler had given up go- 
ing to the brewery. Sidonie would have no objec- 
tion to an elegant club, but the idea of his spending 
an evening over his pipe with Dellobelle, and Sigis- 
mond his cashier, humiliated and annoyed her. 
Consequently he never went, and this was somewhat 
of a sacrifice for him. It was almost like a country 
inn, this quaint brewery in a remote corner of old 
Paris, for La Rue Blondel bore a slight resemblance 
to a street in Zurich or Basel. A Swiss kept the 
brewery, and when the door opened it was like a 
reminiscence of his boyhood to Risler. A long, 
low room, hams hanging from the ceiling, huge 
casks of beer ranged against the wall, and on the 
counter an enormous bowl of potato-salad and a 
gigantic basket of pretzels, made up the scene. 
For twenty years Risler had smoked his pipe there ; 
he had his own table and his own corner, where two 
or three of his compatriots joined him, and listened 
in solemn silence to the interminable but amicable 
disputes of Dellobelle and Chebe. "When Risler 
left the brewery, the others deserted it also. M. 
Chebe, to be sure, had excellent reasons for doing 


84 


SID ON IE. 


so, as he now resided at too great a distance ; for, 
thanks to his children’s generosity, he had at last 
realized the dream of his whole life. 

“When I am rich,” he had always said, “I 
will have a little house of my own just out of Paris, 
and a garden that I shall take care of myself. It 
will be better for my health than Paris ; the life here 
is too exciting.” 

Ah, well! he had his house and his garden, 
but after all he was not amused by them. It 
was at Montrouge that he resided, in a square box 
of a cottage — glaringly white — with a grape-vine on 
one side. JSText to him was another house precisely 
similar, which was occupied by the cashier, Sigis- 
mond Planus, and his sister. To Madame Chebe 
these neighbors were iu valuable. When the good 
woman was tired of herself, she took her knitting, 
and enlivened the quiet old maid with anecdotes of 
past splendors. Unfortunately, her husband did not 
appreciate these same resources. 

At first all went well. . It was midsummer, and 
M. Chebe was very busy arranging the house. 
Each nail led to endless discussions. In the garden 
it was the same thing. He wanted the turf to be 
always green, and insisted on an orchard. “ My 
dear,” said his wife, “ you forget that time is neces- 
sary for that.” “ True ! ” said the little man, and 
for lack of an orchard he planted a vegetable-gar- 
den. He dug and weeded morning after morning, 
and wiped his brow ostentatiously, so that his wife 
would say : 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLONDER. 85 


“Best, my dear; you will certainly kill your- 
self !” 

While the fine weather lasted, the worthy people 
admired the sunsets, and talked of the good, healthy 
air. But when the autumn rains came, how dismal 
they were ! Madame Chebe, a thorough Parisian, 
regretted her old home, and remembered with a 
pang her daily excursions to market. 

She sat near the window, and contemplated the 
dreary prospect : the rain fell in straight lines, the 
vines drooped from the wall, and the dead leaves lay 
in damp, sticky masses on the little path. And a 
short way off was the omnibus-station, with the 
well-known names of Parisian streets painted on 
their varnished sides. Each time that one of these 
omnibuses started on its return she followed it with 
longing eyes, in the same way that a convict at 
Cayenne watches the vessel that sets sail for France 
— made the journey in her imagination — knew just 
where it would stop, and through which gay streets 
it would clumsily roll along. 

Under these circumstances M. Chebe became 
unendurable. He had no one to listen to his long 
stories, no new listener to the history of the acci- 
dent, “like that of the Due d’Orleans.” Conse- 
quently, the poor man reproached his wife. 

“ Your daughter has exiled us — your daughter 
is ashamed of us ! ” For, in his indignation, the 
angry man threw the whole responsibility of this 
unnatural, heartless daughter on his wife. The 
poor woman was happy only when she saw him 


86 


SID 0 NIK 


start off for Paris, to narrate his wrongs to Dello- 
belle. 

This illustrious man had his own injuries, in his 
turn. He had meant to form an important part of 
the new menage , to organize fetes , and to occupy 
the post, in fact, of general adviser. Instead of 
that, Sidonie received him very coolly, and Risler 
gave him no more invitations to the brewery ; nev- 
ertheless, the actor did not complain too openly, and 
when he met his old friend overwhelmed him with 
flattery, for he meant to make use of him. 

Tired at last of expecting the intelligent man- 
ager, Dellobelle had conceived the extravagant idea 
of purchasing a theatre, and becoming a manager 
himself. He looked to Risler for the necessary 
funds. Just at this time he had found a small 
theatre that was to be sold, in consequence of the 
failure of the manager. Dellobelle spoke of it to 
Risler, at first indifferently. 

“ It would be an excellent speculation,” he said. 

Risler listened quietly, saying, “ It would' be a 
good thing for you.” 

Then to a direct appeal, to which he dared not 
say “ No,” Risler took refuge behind “ I will see — 
perhaps,” and finally uttered the unfortunate words 
“ I must see the estimates.” 

For eight days the old actor had figured indus- 
triously— had added up long columns, seated be- 
tween two women who watched him admiringly. 
Throughout the house rang the enchanting words, 
“ M. Dellobelle is going to buy a theatre 1 ” His 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLOND EH g 5 ? 

friends on the boulevards, and at the cafes , talked 
only of his good luck. Dellobelle frankly stated 
that he had found some one who would furnish him 
with money, and he was soon surrounded by a circle 
of actors without engagements, who whispered in 
his ear, 44 Do not forget me, my boy 1 ” 

He promised everything that was asked of him, 
breakfasted and dined at the cafe , wrote his letters 
there, and received his friends; and already two 
needy authors had brought him plays for his 44 open- 
ing night.” He said, “My theatre,” and ordered 
his letters to be addressed to him, 44 M. Dellobelle, 
manager.” 

When he had composed his prospectus, and made 
his estimates, he went to meet Risler at the brew- 
ery, for his friend was too busy to receive him dur- 
ing office-hours. 

Dellobelle reached the- brewery first, installed 
himself at their old table, called for two glasses of 
beer, and waited. Risler did not come ; the actor 
took out his papers and read them over. 

44 Yes, it was a splendid thing ; success was cer- 
tain.” Suddenly the door opened, and M. Chebe 
entered. He was as annoyed and surprised to see 
Dellobelle as Dellobelle was to see him. He had 
written to his son-in-law, that morning, that he 
wished to have a long and serious conversation with 
him, and would see him at the brewery. 

The truth was, M. Chebe had relinquished the 
lease of the little cottage at Montrouge, and had 
hired a shop and entre-sol in La Rue de Mail. Hav- 


88 


SID ON IE. 


ing done all this,, his courage forsook him, and he 
was very anxious to know how his daughter would 
look at the matter, particularly as the shop was 
more expensive than the cottage, and would besides 
require quite a sum of money to be expended in 
repairs before they could take possession. Know- 
ing by long experience the good-nature of his son- 
in-law, M. Chebe preferred to make the disclosure 
to him, and thus leave to Kisler the responsibility 
of making to his wife the announcement of this 
domestic coup-d? etat. 

Instead of Kisler, it was Dellobelle whom he 
saw. They examined each other, like two dogs at 
the same platter. Each understood who it was that 
the other expected. 

“ Is not my son-in-law here ? ” asked M. Chebe, 
looking at the papers spread out on the table, and 
emphasizing the words “ my son-in-law,” as if to 
indicate that Kisler belonged to him, and to no one 
else. 

“I am expecting him momentarily,” answered 
Dellobelle, coolly, as he gathered up his estimates. 
Then, with a theatrical, mysterious air, he added, 
“ We have important business together.” 

“So have we,” answered M. Chebe, whose 
scanty hair began to bristle, like the quills of the 
fretful porcupine. He, in his turn, called for two 
glasses of beer, and drew up a chair to the table. 

Kisler did not appear, and the two men grew 
very impatient. Each hoped that the other would 
leave. At last their ill-temper could no longer bo 


v THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLONDER. 89 


restrained, and, naturally, it was their friend who 
was attacked. M. Dellobelle began first : “ I be- 
lieve the fellow is mocking me ! ” 

“ The fact is — ” said M. Chebe, and then the two 
put their heads together and whispered : “ Eisler 
was close, Eisler was selfish, ‘as well as a pwrvenu” 
They laughed at his accent and his manners. But 
Chebe went still further : “ My son-in-law had bet- 
ter be cautious. If he sends away his wife’s father 
and mother, he must guard her more carefully him- 
self. You understand ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Dellobelle, “ certainly. I am 
told, too, that Sidonie is somewhat reckless. But 
what could one expect? A man of that age — 
Hush ! here he comes.” 

Eisler excused himself as well as possible, but 
was evidently not at ease. He could not leave home 
until late ; his wife had guests. And, all the time 
that he was speaking, the poor fellow was wonder- 
ing to which of the two men he ought to listen 
first. 

Dellobelle was generous. “ You wish to talk 
with each other, gentlemen. Do not let me disturb 
you;” and then he whispered to Eisler, “I have 
the papers.” 

“ The papers ! ” said the other, in amazement. 

“Yes; the estimates, you know,” answered the 
actor. Thereupon, with a great affectation of dis- 
cretion, he turned his back. 

The two others conversed at first in a low voice, 
but finally Chebe’ s wrath could no longer be re- 


90 


SID ONI E. 


strained. He did not mean to be buried alive, he 
said. 

“ But what can you do with a shop ? ” asked Ris- 
ler, timidly. 

“ What can I do with a shop ? ” repeated Chebe, 
as red as an Easter-egg.' “ You forget, sir, I think, 
that I am a merchant, and the son of a merchant. 
I have no capital, it is true, but whose fault is that ? 
If the person who exiled me from Paris — ” 

Here Risler enjoined silence, and disjointed 
words only were now to be distinguished : “ A most 
convenient shop — a magnificent enterprise,” etc. 

At last, when M. Chebe was exhausted by his 
own energy, his son-in-law turned toward Dellobelle 
with a sigh. Chebe drew his chair closer, that he 
might join in the conference. Seeing this, the actor 
folded up his papers, and said in a dignified tone, 
“ Another time, if you please.” 

But M. Chebe was not to be thus rebuffed ; he 
said to himself, “My son-in-law is so weak that 
there is no telling how much that buffoon can get 
out of him.” So he remained to watch. 

Dellobelle was furious, for it was impossible to 
postpone the purchase for more than a day or two, 
and Risler had just told him that on the following 
morning he should go to Savigny for a month. 

“ For a month ! ” exclaimed M. Chebe, aghast. 

“ Oh ! I shall come up to town every day. But 
M. Gardinois is determined to have Sidonie there.” 

M. Chebe shook his head. “ Business is busi- 
ness,” said he ; “a master should always be on hand 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLONDEL. 91 


to stand in the breach. What if the factory should 
take fire some night ? ” 

Finally the last omnibus bore away the trouble- 
some father-in-law, and Dellobelle could speak freely. 

“ First the prospectus,” he said, not wishing to 
begin with figures, and, placing his eye-glasses on 
his nose, he began in this way : 

“ When we consider calmly the decrepitude into 
which the theatres of France have fallen ; when we 
recall the days when Moliere — ” There were a good 
many pages like this ; Risler smoked and listened. 

Unfortunately, just at this point, the waiters be- 
gan to put out the lights. They must depart — they 
would read as they went along. The actor stopped 
at each street-lamp and deciphered his own figures 
— so much for this — so much for that — so much for 
the salary of the actors. 

On this point he became eloquent. “ You must 
remember that we shall not have to pay our star 
anything, for I, of course, will take all the first 
parts ; this, therefore, is a clear saving, and just the 
same as putting the money in your own pocket.” 

Risler did not reply ; his thoughts were evident- 
ly wandering. At last Dellobelle put the question 
squarely. “ Will you, or will you not, lend the 
money ? ” 

“ Frankly, then,” answered Risler, with a cour- 
age that came as he saw the black walls of his fac- 
tory before him, 66 1 will not.” 

Dellobelle was stupefied ; he was so certain of the 
money that he could hardly believe his ears. 


92 


SID ON IE. 


“ No,” continued Risler ; “ I say no because it is 
absolutely impossible for me to do what you ask. I 
will tell you why.” 

And the honest man explained that he was not 
rich ; although a partner in so wealthy a house, he 
had but little money at his own disposal. George 
and he each month drew a certain sum, and at the 
end of the year divided their profits. His expenses 
were large — besides, how could he be sure that the 
theatre would succeed? 

“ It certainly would,” answered the actor, gran- 
diloquently, “for I should be there — ” 

To all poor Dellobelle’ s entreaties Risler would 
only answer : “ Wait two or three years ; at present 
I have no right to speculate ; my name is not my 
own — it belongs to the firm. Would you see me a 
bankrupt ? ” he continued, passionately, and then, 
more calmly, added : “ Come to me again a year 
from now, and I will aid you if I can. And now 
good-night. Here is Achille at the gate.” 

It was after two o’clock when the actor reached 
home ; he found his wife and daughter at work and 
waiting for him — but they were not so calm as of 
yore ; a brighter color glowed on Desiree’s fair face, 
and Madame Dellobelle held her big scissors with 
trembling hands. The birds on the table were more 
brilliant than usual, as if Hope had touched them 
with her life-giving fingers. 

Madame Dellobelle watched the clock. “ Ah ! ” 
she said, “ if your father only succeeds, how happy 
we shall be ! ” 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLONDER 93 


“He will, I am sure — M. Risler is so kind- 
hearted ; and then Sidonie loves us dearly, though 
since her marriage she has seemed to neglect us. 
We must take into consideration the great difference 
in our positions ; but I shall never forget all she has 
done for me.” 

The mother was about to ask what she meant, 
and what Sidonie had done, but her thoughts again 
wandered to her husband. 

“ If your father should have a theatre he would 
play every night, as he did when you were little — 
you do not remember it, but at Alengon he had an 
immense success. Ah ! how handsome and gay lie 
was in those days ! but misfortune has sadly changed 
him, and yet I feel that a little happiness and free- 
dom from care would make him quite young again. 
At Alengon the manager had a carriage — -just think 
of our having a carriage ! it would be such a good 
thing for you, my dear! you could go out every 
day and drive into the country ; you could see the 
water, and the trees — ” 

The little lame girl drew a long breath. At 
this moment the door below shut violently, and M. 
Dellobelle’s heavy step was heard on the staircase. 
The two women dared not look at each other. 

The poor fellow had certainly received a cruel 
blow. The humiliation of a refusal, the ridicule of 
his associates, the debt that he had incurred at the 
cafe , all weighed on his soul as he slowly mounted 
the long flights of stairs. His heart was nearly 
broken, but the dramatic instinct was so strong in 


94 


SIDONIE. 


his nature that he could not tell his tale of woe in a 
natural manner. He entered, looked about him at 
the table covered with work, at his little supper in 
the corner, at the two anxious faces. Then he took 
three steps forward, waited a full minute — and you 
know if at the theatre a minute of silence is not 
long — and then fell on a chair, clasping his hands 
over his heart. 

“ I am doomed to eternal perdition ! ” he hissed 
between his set teeth. And he gave the table a tre- 
mendous thump with his closed fist — so tremendous 
that the poor little birds and beetles flew away to 
the four corners of the room. His terrified wife 
ran to his side, while Desiree half rose from her 
chair in mute distress. 

The actor threw back his head, permitted his 
arms to fall limp and lifeless at his side, while he 
began a dismal monologue, interrupted by sighs and 
sobs, by threats and imprecations against the selfish 
j parvenus for whose benefit the true artist poured 
out his life-blood. Then he lightly sketched his 
whole life : the triumphs of his debut , his success 
at A1 engon, his marriage to the “ sainted woman ,J — 
and he pointed a trembling finger at the poor creat- 
ure who stood bathed in tears, nodding a w T eak as- 
sent to each one of her husband’s propositions. He 
recalled his arrival in Paris, dwelt on his misery and 
privations. Alas ! he had not endured many, as 
one could see who turned from the picture he pre- 
sented, of well-dressed comfort, to the two frail, 
worn beings at his side. 


THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLOND EL, #5 

“ Ah ! ” lie continued, “ for fifteen years I have 
fougkt and struggled ; for fifteen years I have owed 
every mouthful I have swallowed to the exertions of 
these two angels ! ” 

“ Dear father ! ” cried Desiree, pleadingly. 

“ Yes, every mouthful ! nor am I ashamed to 
confess it, since the sacrifices that they have made 
have been laid on the altar of my sacred art. But 
now all is over ; I renounce my vocation ! ” 

His wife uttered a little shriek. “ What are 
you saying 1 ” she cried. 

“ Leave me to my misery ! ” he answered, in se- 
pulchral tones. “ My strength is gone; I can endure 
this unequal contest no longer.” 

Could you then have seen the two pale women im- 
plore him with tears and embraces to still eherish the 
hopes that had been his sole joy ; could you have heard 
them entreat him to have courage and struggle yet 
a little longer, you would have wept with them. 

At last he made the asked-for concession, and 
promised them not to despair, not to take any des- 
perate steps ; and fifteen minutes later our comedian 
was seated at the table eating his supper with an 
excellent appetite— an appetite improved possibly by 
his exertions, and by the sympathy of his little fam- 
ily. The only indications of the stormy hour he had 
passed were to be found in a certain lassitude, com- 
mon to all great actors who have played a long and 
dramatic rdle. Desiree and her mother paid a 
heavier penalty, however, for they never closed their 
eyes until daybreak. 


CHAPTER IV. 


AT 8 A VIGNY. 

It was most unfortunate that Sidonie and George 
ever found themselves together again at Savigny. 
The trees that had heard his vows and protestations 
two short years before still stood there, and, as their 
leaves rustled in the wind, seemed to laugh at his 
inconstancy. As to Claire, she had never been so 
happy ; her child walked on the turf which her own 
feet had trod at the same age. She looked about 
her in serene content, and thanked God in her heart 
that he had placed her in so fair a world, and poured 
so many blessings upon her. Sidonie was in a very 
different frame of mind : she declared that the 
child’s noise fatigued her, and appealed to M. Gar- 
dinois to know if children were not always bores. 
He laughingly told her that he had never heard of 
but one who was not. Sidonie was caressed and 
flattered by the old man to her heart’s content. 
The carriages, that had been shut up for so many 
months that the spiders had woven their webs over 
the silk cushions, were now brought out and placed 
at her disposal. She drove out two or three times 
each day. Every one in the house followed the. gay 


AT SA VIGNY. 


9 ? 


example : tlie gardener took better care of bis flow- 
ers, because Madame Risler wished to wear them 
in her hair ; suppers and dinners were arranged, 
where Claire, of course, presided, but of which Si- 
donie was, in fact, the real life. 

Occasionally Claire was compelled to excuse her- 
self at the last moment, and allow Sidonie to go 
alone to the station to meet the gentlemen on their 
return from the city in the afternoon. “ Excuse 
me,” Claire would say ; “ my child is not well, and 
needs me.” 

Then Sidonie, with the air of a grande dame , 
would seat herself in the superb carriage, and order 
the coachman to drive like the wind. She lay back, 
wrapped in her soft laces, with her eyes half closed, 
and was only aroused from her luxurious dreams by 
hearing, the voices of some poorly-clad people out 
for a holiday. She looked at them with a shiver of 
disgust, for they recalled too vividly her miserable 
past, with its mortifications and miseries. 

But the carriage reached the station, and Sidonie 
heard with ill-disguised pleasure the murmur that 
greeted her appearance. “It is young Madame 
Fromont,” she heard in a whisper from more than 
one person. The mistake w r as hardly surprising to 
any one who saw the three drive away : the pretty, 
gay little woman looked certainly as if she were the 
wife of the' elegant man at her side ; while Bisler, 
opposite, sedate and calm, looked as if he belonged 
to a different world. 

While the chateau was thus transformed by the 
5 


m 


SID ONI E. 


caprices of a young woman, old Gardinois looked 
on quietly. He was of an extremely inquisitive 
nature, believing that “ knowledge is power.” He 
spared no pains to get at a secret whenever and 
wherever he suspected one ; he had always been 
more or less of a spy. The goings and doings of 
his servants interested him hugely ; not a basket of 
vegetables came into his kitchen without a prelimi- 
nary examination from himself. He took the great- 
est pleasure in finding fault, and in bringing up an 
offender to justice. All this gave him some occu- 
pation, and served him again in the evening, when 
he repeated all the morning occurrences to liis 
guests. 

In order to carry out his plans of constant sur- 
veillance over his people, he spent the greater part 
of his days seated on a bench near the entrance to 
the grounds, where he could see every one who 
eame in or out. At night he had invented another 
arrangement : he had an acoustic tube placed in the 
vestibule, and leading to his bedroom just above; 
m this way he thought he should hear every wdiis- 
pef uttered on the balcony and on the wide stone 
steps. 

Unhappily, this arrangement, perfect as it was, 
exaggerated the sounds — confused and prolonged 
them ; and sometimes, when M. Gardinois put his 
ear to the tube, he could hear nothing but a shrill 
Scream from the parrot on liis perch, or the loud 
ticking of the clock, and the voices reached him only 
hi a confused buzz. So he abandoned this invention, 


AT SAVIGNY. 


99 


and it lay nearly forgotten, concealed in the window- 
curtains. 

One night the old man was aroused, just as he 
was falling into his first sleep, by the creak of a 
door. * This was very odd, for the whole house had 
retired. The old man had a happy thought. When 
could his tube be used to better advantage ? He 
placed his ear to its mouth. He w r as right ; first 
one door was gently opened and shut ; then the 
chain on the larger hall-door slightly rattled. “ But 
why do not the dogs bark ? ” Gardinois muttered 
to himself. “ I thought so ! ” — and, drawing his 
curtains slightly aside, he looked out. 

A tall, masculine form stood below, with his arm 
thrown around a slender figure, all wrapped in shawls 
and laces. It was a glorious summer night ; soft, 
fleecy clouds floated over the full moon ; the blue 
depths of the lake slept undisturbed by a single 
ripple; and here and there in the deep shadows 
glittered the greenish splendor of a fire-fly. 

With cautious steps the pair stole down the 
avenue, and were quickly hidden by intervening 
trees from the inquisitive eyes above. 

“ I thought so ! ” repeated old Gardinois, who 
knew them — as well he might, for he had had his 
suspicions for some little time ; and now, full of tri- 
umph, the old man returned to his couch. 

The temptation of Sidonie’s constant presence 
had been too much for George’s weak nature. He 
adored her now with a mad and reckless passion. 
For her sake he deceived his wife— his best friend 


100 


SID ON IE. 


He deceived Risler, his partner, his faithful adviser, 
and constant companion. Sidonie became his ever- 
present thought, and he realized that he had never 
loved until then. As to her, her love like herself was 
full of vain triumphs. Ah ! if she could hut have 
said to Claire, “ He loves me — me alone ! ” her hap- 
piness would have been far greater. As to Risler, 
she said to herself with a shrug of her shoulders, and 
in her shop-girl jargon, “ What could he expect, an 
old fellow like that, whom I only married for his 
money ? ” 


CHAPTER V. 


8IGISM0ND PLANUS’S FEARS FOR HIS CASH-ACCOUNT. 

“ A carriage ! and what should I do with a car- 
riage ? ” said Risler, in a tone of profound amaze- 
ment. 

“ I assure you,” answered George, uneasily, “ that 
one is absolutely indispensable. The coupe is not 
sufficient. Our business relations are daily extend- 
ing ; and, besides, it is really not the thing to see one 
of the firm always goingabout on foot, and the other 
in his carriage. It does not look well, I assure you. 
It is a necessary expense, and I shall so consider it, 
and enter it among the expenditures of the firm ; so 
you may as well make up your mind to it.” 

It seemed to Risler as if this new expense was a 
robbery *f some one ; but, as George was so urgent, 
he felt himself compelled to yield; thinking, besides, 
“ How happy Sidonie will be ! ” 

The poor man did not know that a month before 
Sidonie had herself chosen a coupe which George 
could not present to her openly, and had consequent- 
ly invented this ingenious method of advising its 
purchase. 

Risler was easily deceived. Frank and honest 


103 


SIDONIE. 


himself, he never suspected duplicity in others. At 
this time his attention was totally absorbed by his 
new invention, with which he hoped to revolutionize 
the manufacture of wall-papers. Thoughtful and 
anxious, he entered his home for dinner, and was 
too thankful to be received with smiles. He did 
not ask himself the reason of this change, nor yet 
why Sidonie never nowadays made any objection to 
his spending an occasional evening at the brewery. 
Their home, too, grew daily prettier, and comfort 
had given place to luxury. The simple jardinieres 
had departed, and Sidonie now cared only for the 
latest caprices of the day — old carvings and rare 
china. Her boudoir was hung with a delicate shade 
of blue, the silk quilted in diamonds like the lining 
of a jewel-casket. A grand piano stood in the 
drawing-room instead of the old one, and the sing- 
ing-lesson was a daily affair. 

Madame Dobson, the teacher, was an American, 
whose lemon-colored hair was parted over a high 
forehead. Her husband prevented her from going 
on the stage, but she gave lessons and sang at private 
concerts. In spite of her steel-blue eyes and sharp 
features, she had a languishing, sentimental air that 
was positively exasperating. Uttered by her lips, 
the words love and passion seemed to have twenty 
syllables, and to be indefinitely prolonged ; and Ma- 
dame Dobson would raise her eyes to the ceiling 
with the expression of a dying swan. To this point 
Sidonie never arrived, though she made conscien- 
tious efforts in that direction. Her full ripe lips 


SIGISMOND PLANUS'S CASH-ACCOUNT. 103 

and mischievous eyes were never made for such sen- 
timentalities. Offenbach or Herve, whose music 
she could have aided by a gesture, a nod of the 
head, or an arm akimbo, would have suited her 
much better, but she dared not make such an igno- 
minious avowal. Sidonie, without intimate friends 
or relations, had by degrees made a friend of her 
music-mistress. She kept her to luncheon, took her 
to drive with her in the new coupe, and asked her 
aid in her shopping-excursions. The sentimental 
and sympathizing tone of Madame Dobson won her 
confidence. Sidonie spoke to her of George, of 
their love, and excused herself for her infidelity to 
her husband by complaining of the cruelty of her 
parents, who had compelled her to marry him, 
though he was so much older than herself. Ma- 
dame Dobson was willing to aid her, not so much 
from lack of principle as from a desire for excite- 
ment and a romance. In her opinion, all husbands 
were tyrants; for she herself, poor little woman! 
was married to a dentist, who amused himself by 
beating her whenever he was out of temper with 
the world or himself. Two or three times each 
w'feek she brought Sidonie tickets for the theatre 
or for the opera. Risler supposed they were pre- 
sented to the music-teacher ; little did he know that 
George had requested her to purchase them, and 
that the tickets were not for seats, but represented 
the best private boxes in the house. 

To deceive a man like Risler required but little 
ingenuity. His credulity was boundless. Besides. 


104 


SIDON1E. 


he knew nothing of the world in which his wife 
was already only too well known. He never went 
with her. Occasionally, in the early days of their 
married life, he had taken her to witness a new 
play, but had himself slept peacefully throughout 
the evening. Hot enjoying the theatre, he was 
only glad to relinquish his seat to Madame Dobson. 

Evening after evening, when his wife left him, 
he would frankly express his admiration at her 
superb toilets, not having the least idea of their 
expense or the source whence they came, and then, 
with a heart free from jealousy or doubt, spend the 
evening in solitude over his drawings. 

Below, in the Fromont apartments, the same 
farce was enacted — but the rdles were reversed. 
There it was the wife who was deserted. Each 
evening, a half-hour before Sidonie’s departure, M. 
Fromont’s coupe came to the door to take George 
to the club. Claire was told that many an impor- 
tant business-affair had been brought to a prosperous 
conclusion over a game of billiards. And she, poor 
child ! believed that only the interests of the firm 
could take him away from his home so constantly. 
Her spirits flagged for a time after he went out, for 
each night she hoped to retain him, or that he would 
propose that she should go to some place of amuse- 
ment with him. But the loving arms of her child 
soon took the slight ache from her heart. 

George and Sidonie met at the theatre. Their 
first heart-throb was one of vanity, for they attracted 
much attention. She was very pretty, and each new 


SIGISMOND PLANUS'S CASII-ACCOUNT. 105 


caprice of fashion seemed to have been invented to 
lend a fresh charm to her coquettish face. Before 
long Madame Dobson was left the sole occupant of 
the box at the theatre, and Sidonie with George 
sallied forth in search of adventures. With un- 
paralleled audacity they visited ballrooms and restau- 
rants most frequented by the demi-monde , in re- 
gard to which class Sidonie felt a morbid curiosity. 

From these excursions, Sidonie, who seemed 
actuated by a determination to make amends for the 
enforced monotony of her girlhood by a series of ex- 
travagances and excitements, returned to her bour- 
geois home with odd phrases and gestures, and new 
ideas for her toilet, which seemed strangely out of 
place in that quiet spot. 

Doubts and suspicions were beginning to be ex- 
cited in regard to her within the manufactory-walls. 
Women, even the poorest and most menial of their 
sex, have an instinctive perception of the cost of a 
feminine costume. When Madame Risler went out 
every afternoon about three, fifty pair of curious 
eyes scanned her enviously from the huge windows 
of the factory. These sharp eyes penetrated her 
velvet coat and her cuirass of jet, and detected the 
guilty conscience they covered. The operatives 
laughed contemptuously as they looked. “ She 
does not put on those fine clothes to go to church ! ” 
“And,” said another, “it is not more than three 
years since she used to go out with a water-proof 
cloak, and two cents’ worth of chestnuts in her 
pocket, to keep her from starving 1 ” And, in the 


10G 


SID OKIE. 


dust and turmoil of those hot rooms, more than one 
poor girl thought of the strange chance that had so 
transformed the life of this woman, and began to 
dream vaguely of possibilities for herself. 

All this little world regarded Risler as grossly 
deceived by his wife. Some one professed to have' 
seen madame at the theatre, accompanied by a gen- 
tleman, who carefully secluded himself from obser- 
vation in the back of the box. Achille, too, had 
wonderful tales to tell, for the old gardener did not 
love Madame Risler. That Sidonie had admirers, 
or even several, all these people were quite prepared 
to believe ; but, oddly enough, no one as yet had 
connected her name with that of George. 

And yet Sidonie was anything but cautious in 
her relations with him. In fact, a certain ostenta- 
tious bravado characterized them. Many a time 
had she stopped him on the staircase, to make 
some arrangement for the evening, and had often 
sadly disturbed his nerves by whispering to him 
before the whole of them. The first shock over, 
George was amused, and looked upon these impru- 
dences as a proof of the strength of her passion. In 
this notion, however, he deceived himself greatly. 

The simple truth was, that Sidonie was deter- 
mined to arouse Claire’s jealousy *and suspicions. 
All her efforts in this direction were useless : Claire 
saw nothing, suspected nothing ; her own pure na- 
ture and innocent heart, like Risler’ s, remained un- 
disturbed. 

Sigismond, the cashier, was the only one whose 


SIGISMOND PLANUS } S CASH-ACCOUNT. 107 


peace was troubled. But it was not of Sidonie that 
he thought, as he sat looking out on the little 
garden, with eyes that saw not. He thought of his 
master, and. of the enormous sums he was spending. 

“ Have you a little money for me to-day, Planus ? 
I was thoroughly cleaned out at cards last night.” 
And Planus would open his safe with a groan as he 
thought of the day when the young man came to hts 
uncle to confess some enormous gambling-debts. 
Suddenly the good man conceived a violent hatred 
for the club and all its members. One of them be- 
ing in the office one day, Planus expressed this ha- 
tred in ^ery strong terms : 

“ Confound your club ! In the last two months 
M. George has wasted thousands there ! ” 

The other laughed. “Thousands indeed!” he 
said ; “ why, we have not seen him there for cer- 
tainly three months.” The cashier said not another 
word, but a terrible fear had taken possession of 
his heart. If George did not go to the club, where 
did he pass his evenings, and how did he spend so 
much money % Evidently there was some woman 
connected with this mystery. 

And, with this interpretation, Sigismond feared 
more than ever for his dear cash-box, for to this old 
Swiss all women were appalling, more particularly 
a Parisian. His first duty evidently was to warn 
Bisler. 

“ M. George spends a good deal of money,” said 
he, one day. 

But Eisler was not disquieted. “ What do yon 


108 


SID OMR 


wish me to do about it, Sigismond ? He lias surely 
the right to do as he pleases with his own ! ” 

And the good fellow thought as he spoke. In 
his eyes young Fromont was the absolute master oi 
the house, and he himself only a designer connected 
with it. The cashier said no more, until one day 
a bill came for a thousand-dollar cashmere shawl. 
He went to George. “Am I to pay this, sir $ ” he 
asked. George Fromont was a little startled : Sidonie 
had forgotten to advise him of this new purchase. 

“ Pay it — pay it, Planus,” he said, in some em- 
barrassment ; “ you will pass it to my private ac- 
count. It is a commission that I executed for a 
friend.” 

That evening, just as Sigismond was lighting his 
lamp, he saw Risler passing through the garden, and 
called him. “ It is a woman,” he said, in a hoarse 
whisper, “ and I have the proof of it ; ” and the poor 
cashier felt that the manufactory was on the high- 
road to destruction — all for a woman. 

ftisler laughed, and refused to believe it. He 
knew this old mania of the cashier’s, who always at- 
tributed all misfortunes to the evil influence of the 
sex. Nevertheless the words of his friend returned 
to Risler in the evening, as he sat alone after Sido- 
nie’s departure with Madame Dobson. The room 
looked strangely empty. Candles burned in front 
of the mirror, a forgotten bouquet lay on a chair, 
and a thousand expensive trifles were thrown care- 
lessly about. Ilisler saw nothing of this, but, when 
h§ heard George’s coupe roll away, he felt a cold 


SIOISMOND PLANUS'S CASH-ACCOUNT. 109 


chill at his heart as he thought of the solitary wife 
on the floor below. “ Poor thing! if what Planus 
said is true — if George is faithless to her — oh, it 
would be terrible ! ” 

Then, instead of going to work, he went down- 
stairs to ask if Madame George was visible, for he 
thought it his duty to stay with her awhile. 

The little girl had gone to bed, but a pair of 
small blue shoes lay on the hearth-rug, with some 
playthings. Claire was reading, while near her sat her 
mother, occupied in rubbing her watch, breathing on 
the crystal and wiping it. Risler was not the liveliest 
companion in the world, but Claire received him with 
the greatest cordiality. She knew all that was said of 
Sidonie, and, though she did not believe the half of 
it, she yet felt the most profound compassion for 
this man, whose wife left him so often in solitude. 
A mutual pity drew these two kind hearts together, 
and nothing could have been more touching than to 
see each consoling the other. Seated at this little 
table, Risler was very happy ; the genial warmth 
of the fire, the sight of the furniture that for twenty 
years he had known so familiarly, the portrait of his 
old master, and his dear Madame George bending 
over her sewing, seeming younger and lovelier than 
ever, among these old surroundings — all seemed to 
render the doubts suggested by Planus alike improb- 
able and fantastic. Occasionally she rose to go into 
the next room to look at her sleeping child. With- 
out knowing precisely why, Risler found it more 
agreeable in these rooms than in his own ; for some- 


110 


8ID0NIR. 


times his apartments seemed like a place where his 
wife came to make a fresh start for some new scene 
of gayety. There it was like an encampment, here 
like a home ; a careful hand and watchful eye main- 
tained order and elegance. The chairs were disposed 
at the right angles ; the fire burned with a clear 
flame and pleasant noise ; while the baby’s half- worn 
shoe brought a choking sensation to his throat. 

Thus, while Claire compassionated this kind, 
good soul, who merited a better wife, Risler, ab- 
sorbed in admiration of her gentle ways and tender 
eyes that looked on him so kindly, asked himself if 
it were possible that George could be so foolish as 
to tisr© of such a charming companion. 


CHAPTER VI. 


STOCK-TAKING. 

The house at Montrouge occupied by the cash- 
ier Planus was next the one vacated by M. Chebe. 
Planus lived there with his sister. He took the 
early omnibus to town every morning, and returned 
home to a late dinner. On Sundays he watered hia 
flowers, tied up his vines, and fed his poultry. His 
sister kept the house, and sewed. Neither had 
married, and both entertained a like horror of the 
opposite sex, regarding each other as the only ones 
to be trusted, and as the great exception to the gen- 
eral rule. 

In the eyes of these timid natures, Paris was in- 
habited by monsters, who were busy only with evil ; 
and, when the tidings of some one of those miser- 
able conjugal dramas penetrated to their seclusion, 
Mademoiselle Planus would say : “ What can one 
expect ? It is all the fault of the husband ! 99 while 
Sigismond would groan, “ Women — women ! ” 

For some little time the discussions between 
the brother and sister had been singularly lively. 
Mademoiselle Planus pitied Claire, and wondered 
at her liusbazid’s neglect ; while the cashier could 


112 


SID 0 NIK 


find no words to express his indignation at the un- 
known person who. had drawn the price of a thou- 
sand-dollar cashmere from his iron safe. “ What 
will become of ns if this goes on ? ” he said, indig- 
nantly; for he had at heart the honor and well- 
being of the firm, where he had been for so many 
years. 

One day Mademoiselle Planus sat knitting by 
the fire. She was becoming anxious, as her brother 
was an hour later than usual. The door opened, 
and he came and took a seat without speaking. 
This being contrary to his usual habit, his sister 
looked at him in terror. 

“ I know,” he said, hoarsely, “ who the woman 
is who means to ruin us ! ” and then, in a whisper, 
he uttered a name so unexpected that his sister 
begged him to repeat it two or three times over be- 
fore she was quite sure that she understood it. 

“ It is impossible ! ” she cried. 

“ It is true ! ” said he, in a tone half of grief 
and half of triumph. Thereupon he related how 
old Achille had seen Sidonie and George, as they 
came out from a restaurant together, and the man 
never lied. Besides, other people knew other things. 
In fact, no one at the factory was in ignorance save 
Risler himself. 

“ But you must tell him,” said his sister. 

The cashier hesitated. “It is a most delicate 
affair. He would not believe me ; and then, be- 
tween the two partners, I should lose my situation 1 
And Risler might have been so happy if he had 


STOCK-TAKING . 


113 


not married! When he came to- this country he 
had not a cent, and now he is at the head of one of 
the most substantial firms in Paris. What need 
had he of a wife ? And then nothing would do for 
him but a little Frenchwoman — any one of whom 
is enough to ruin a man — and now where are 
we? Every day I must hand out money to M. 
George. I have warned Risler over and over again, 
all to no purpose. Risler shrugs his shoulders and 
says, ‘ It is not my affair ! ’ He will sing another 
song, I fancy, now, ho.wever.” And the cashier re- 
lapsed into silence. 

His sister was overwhelmed with consternation. 
“ Had they only known this sooner, when Madame 
Chebe was their neighbor — she was such a thor- 
oughly honorable woman — and she could have 
spoken to Sidonie ! ” 

“ That is a good idea,” cried Sigismond. “ To- 
morrow you had better call on her. I thought of 
writing to Frantz ; he has always had much influ- 
ence over his brother, and is really the only person 
who would ever dare to tell him certain things. 
But Frantz is so far off, and it would take him so 
long to get here ! Poor Risler ! I am sprry for 
him. Ho ; the best way is to warn Madame Chebe, 
and you must do that.” 

This commission was of so unpleasant a nature 
that his sister rebelled, but finally consented — first 
because she rarely resisted her brother, and secondly 
because she had a real desire to serve Risler. 

Thanks to his son-in-law’s generosity, M. Chebe 


114 


SIDONIE. 


had been able to gratify his last fancy. For three 
months he had been installed in his empty shop, 
throwing the whole neighborhood into a state of 
wonder, as they saw the shutters taken down every 
morning, and as carefully pitt up at night as if the 
shelves had been covered with the rarest and most 
precious goods. A new counter and show-case, with 
a set of glittering scales, were all that was to be 
seen. In short, M. Chebe had not yet made up his 
mind what branch of trade he should select ! 

He thought of it all day long, as he stood in his 
doorway with his pen behind his ear. The noise of 
the street, the hurry, and the bustle, enchanted the 
little man. He watched the unloading of the huge 
bales at the shop near by, and amused himself in 
wondering what their contents could be; and he 
went to bed at night exhausted with the superin- 
tendence of the labors of others, and said to his 
wife as he wiped his forehead, “ Yes, this active 
life is just what I needed ! ” 

Madame Chebe smiled gently, but made no re- 
ply. Worn out with her husband’s caprices, she 
quietly settled herself in the back-shop that looked 
out on a dark court, arranged her household gods as 
best she could about her, and consoled herself by 
thinking of her former prosperity, of her girlhood, 
and of her daughter, and, always well dressed and 
industrious, soon earned the respect and liking of 
the neighborhood. Her room was always exquisite- 
ly clean. During the day the bed had the look of a 
wide sofa, and a screen concealed the cooking-uten- 


STOCK-TAKING. 


115 


sils in the corner. The poor woman was thankful 
for a little peace and quiet, and hoped that her hus- 
band would long he as contented as at present. 

M. Ch&be hung over his door the sign “ Com- 
mission Merchant ; ” but he made no mention of any 
particular line of goods. His neighbors sold linens, 
silks, and laces ; he was disposed to sell any or all 
of these. “ To he sure,” he said to his wife, “ I do 
not know much about linens ; but, as regards silks, 
I am perfectly at home. But, to be successful, I 
ought to employ a traveling-agent. But I will sleep 
on it ! ” 

After three or four months of this existence M. 
Chebe began to find it slightly monotonous. The 
old pain in his head returned by degrees. The street 
was unhealthful ; besides, there was no trade there. 
It was in the height of these complaints that Made- 
moiselle Planus made her visit. The simple old 
maid said to herself, as she turned the corner of the 
street, “ I will break it to them by degrees.” But, 
like all timid natures, she disembarrassed herself of 
her burden as soon as she entered the doors. Ma- 
dame Chebe rose in her wrath — she had never heard 
anything to equal this. Her poor Sidonie to be the 
victim of frightful calumnies like these ! 

M. Chebe took an equally high position. How 
dared any one come to him with such slanders! 
How could any one suppose that his daughter, the 
child of an honorable merchant, could be guilty of 
such conduct ? 

Mademoiselle Planus shook her head sadly, but 


116 


SIDONIE. 


insisted on the truth of her words. They refused to 
listen, and regarded her as a gossip, a bringer of 
evil reports. 

“But,” said the poor little woman, “every one 
knows it at the factory ; and if you would represent 
to her — ” 

“What?” interrupted M. Chebe, violently, fu- 
rious at her persistence. “ What shall I represent 
to Sidonie? She is married, and lives away from 
us. It is for her husband, who has both age and 
experience, to advise her and control her. Go to 
him, if you choose ! ” 

And here the little man went off into long com- 
plaints of his son-in-law, the stupid Swiss, who spent 
his life in his office, and thought of nothing but 
making money, and who would never accompany 
his wife into the world, but preferred to her society 
that of his pipe, and his old associates at the brew- 
ery. And you should have seen the look of con- 
tempt with which M. Chebe uttered the words 
“ the brewery.” His wife had grown very silent, 
as incidents crowded on her memory of Sidonie’s 
reckless acts. What would not the poor woman 
have given to have been deaf, dumb, and blind? 
Like every one who has been sorely disappointed in 
life, she felt as if ignorance was the most desirable 
thing in the world. 

Mademoiselle Planus rose to go. M. Chebe 
lighted a burner in his empty shop., and his wife 
cried quietly in her dark back-room. When Sigis- 
mond reached home, bis sister was there to receive 


STOCK-TAKING. 


117 


him, and told him of her visit, with tears in her 

eyes. 

“ They refused to believe me,” she said. 

Her brother patted her kindly on the shoulder. 
“ We did it for the best, my dear, and for the honor 
of our dear old master’s firm.” 

From this time forth Sigismond was sad and 
silent. His cash-box was kept very low by constant 
applications for money from young Fromont. “ My 
confidence is shaken,” he said to himself, in a low 
voice. And in the middle of the day, when he saw 
Sidonie, in gorgeous raiment, coming down the wide 
stone steps of the house, he grew hot with indigna- 
tion as he looked at her. Was it for such a mass of 
frippery as that, that the honor of a great mercan- 
tile house was imperiled ? 

Madame llisler never suspected that in that old 
cashier, behind the wire grating, was her bitterest 
enemy, who watched her every act, knew the hour 
that her singing-mistress arrived, and how many 
times in the week her milliner and dress-maker, both 
laden with boxes, appeared. Sigismond counted 
the packages that came from the stores, and peered 
curiously in at all the windows of the Risler apart- 
ments. The rich coverings of the furniture, the 
baskets of rare flowers, the tall china vases, did not 
escape his observation. But he studied Risler’s face 
more than anything else. Could it be possible that 
this man accepted his dishonor quietly — that he 
knew it? To be sure, there was something abso- 
lutely monstrous in such a supposition in regard to 


118 


SID ON IE. 


liis friend — the best, the most generous, the most 
sincere of men ! But it is a singular fact that un- 
suspicious natures, once aroused to a certainty of 
evil, go afterward always too far. Once convinced 
of the treason of George and Sidonie, it was easy 
for the cashier to accept Bisler’s. Besides, how 
could one understand otherwise his singular indif- 
ference to the increased and enormous expenditures 
of the firm ? 

Sigismond had little comprehension of Bisler’s 
nature. Although the latter was a thorough busi- 
ness-man, he had much of the temperament of the 
artist, the inventor. Sigismond could not under- 
stand that a man on the point of a wonderful dis- 
covery, that would revolutionize their business, lived 
entirely within himself, and had neither eyes nor 
ears for anything else. Such people are like som- 
nambulists — though their eyes are wide open, they 
see nothing. 

But in Sigismond’s opinion Bisler saw all. This 
false idea rendered the old man extremely unhappy. 
He watched his friend’s face whenever they were 
together, and gave his own solution to each fleeting 
expression; finally, discouraged by the absorption 
he saw there, he turned away in disgust, busied him- 
self with his papers and accounts, and hardly deigned 
to answer a question. 

Ho more pleasant little chats over the books ; no 
more friendly smiles. Bisler vaguely felt the change, 
and finally spoke of it to his wife. For some time 
she had perceived the growing dislike of those about 


STOCK-TAKING. 


119 


her. Sometimes, in passing through the court, she 
felt annoyed at the cold, menacing glances cast upon 
her by the cashier at his little window. The present 
disagreement between the old friends alarmed her. 
She took her measures at once. 

“Do you not see,” she said to her husband, 
“ that he is horribly jealous of you — of your posi- 
tion ? Formerly you were equals ; now you are his 
superior, and he is beginning to dislike you. As to 
myself, I am accustomed to that sort of thing.” 

Bisler opened his eyes in astonishment. “ You ? ” 
he said. 

“Yes, certainly. All these people detest me, 
for they do not fancy seeing ‘ little Chebe ’ elevated 
to the position of your wife. Heaven knows what 
hideous things they say about me — your cashiers 
tongue is, I fancy, quite as long as the others. He 
is a very bad man.” 

These words had their effect. Bisler was indig- 
nant, and, too proud to complain, returned coldness 
for coldness. These two good men, distrusting 
each other, and finding themselves uncomfortable in 
each other’s presence, ended by rarely meeting. 

Sidonie’s time was fully occupied in managing 
all the details of her luxurious life. She must have 
a country-house. To be sure, she utterly abhorred 
trees and fields. “ There is nothing more dreary in 
the world,” she said. 

But Claire passed the summer at Savigny. "With 
the first warm weather her trunks were packed; 
curtains and carpets were shaken and put uo in 


120 


SID ON IE. 


camphor ; and the baby’s cradle, with its blue rib- 
bons, figured on the top of a great furniture-wagon 
that might have been seen slowly creeping along 
the highway in the direction of Savigny. 

The family followed a few hours later, and then 
Sidonie considered Paris deserted ; and, although 
she loved it even in July and August, when it was 
like a fiery furnace, she was nevertheless annoyed 
and envious when she thought that all the world of 
fashion were wandering by the sad sea-waves, under 
huge white umbrellas. 

“ Sea-bathing ? ” But Bisler could not leave town. 

“ Then a house in the country ? ” 

“But I have not the means,” said Sidonie to 
herself. 

George would have gladly come to the rescue, 
and at once gratified this new caprice. But a coun- 
try-house is not so easily concealed as a diamond 
bracelet or an India shawl. Still, Bisler was of so 
simple a nature that they might try the experiment 
with him possibly. 

So, to prepare the way, his wife spoke to him 
over and over again of her longing for a little place 
in the country, not too far away from Paris. Bisler 
listened with a pleased smile. He thought of the 
green grass, of an orchard with trees loaded with 
fruit; but, as he was prudent, he said: “We will 
see, we will see ! Wait until the end of the year.” 

The end of the year means so much to men of 
business! Then the books are all balanced, the ac- 
counts all made out; and even the errand-boys in 


STOCK-TAKING. 


121 


the establishment are interested, for on the happy 
results of those long columns of figures depends, 
perhaps, their own gift. 

Sigismond Planus is, for the time being, master 
of the situation, and the house of Fromont & Ris- 
ler hangs on his words. The old cashier has a fear- 
ful air of importance, ensconced behind his iron 
grating. There he sits, day after day, turning over 
the heavy folios. 

Young Fromont would come in on tiptoe, with his 
cigar in his mouth. “ Well , how are you getting on ? ” 

The sole response from Sigismond would be a 
groan. 

This, George knew only too well, indicated that 
things were not looking very promising. In fact, 
since the days of the French Revolution, when the 
paving-stones of the court were torn up for a barri- 
cade, no such unsatisfactory accounts had been seen. 
The general expenses had absorbed all the profits 
and more, for young Fromont found that he had 
overdrawn his account. He received this statement 
from the cashier pleasantly enough. “ Things will 
be better the coming year,” he said ; and, to re- 
store the cashier to good-humor, George handed him 
a much larger gum than usual as a New-Year’s gift, 
and bade him say nothing to Risler. “ I will tell 
him myself,” added George. 

When he entered the little office, lighted from 
above like a studio, and saw his partner bending 
over his drawing, George had a moment of shame 
and hesitation. 

6 


122 


SID ON IE. 


“Is that you?” cried Risler, gayly. “My in- 
vention is nearly perfected, and it will not be long 
before, with its aid, we shall distance all competitors.” 

“ That is all very well for the future,” answered 
Fromont, “ but of the present you do not seem to 
think.” 

“ True — true,” said Risler ; “ and these accounts, 
how are they ? Rot very satisfactory, I imagine.” 

ITe said this because he discovered in George’s 
face an expression of annoyance. 

“ Extremely so,” answered the young man, “ for 
the first year : we have each of us made a handsome 
sum; and, as I thought you might want some 
money to-day to purchase some gift for your wife — ” 
and, without looking at the honest man, upon whom 
he was thus imposing, George laid upon the table a 
pile of bank-notes and of gold. 

Risler was for a brief moment quite delighted. 
All that money for him — for him alone ? He thought 
first of the liberality of these Fromonts, who had 
done so much for him, and then of his little Sidonie, 
whose often-expressed wish he could now venture to 
gratify. Tears rose to his eyes ; a sweet and tender 
smile hovered on his lips ; lie extended both hands 
to his partner. 

“ I am happy — very happy ! ” he murmured. — 
This was his phrase on all great occasions. — Then, 
rustling the crisp notes before him, he said: “Do 
you know what these are? A country-house for 
Sidonie.” And the good man smiled with an air of 
triumph. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A LETTER. 

“ To M. Frantz Risler, Engineer of La Compagnie 
Erangaise , Ismanlia , Egypt . 

“ Frantz, my boy, it is old Sigismond who writes 
to yon, to tell you, very abruptly, that strange things 
are going on in your brother’s house. His wife 
deceives him grossly, and the end will be that the 
world will regard him as a rascal. You must come 
at once ; no one but yourself can make your brother 
do what he ought to do without delay. His friends 
here he will not believe. You have no time to lose, 
and must come home immediately. I know that 
you are earning your daily bread, that you have 
your future to create; but I know, too, that the 
honor of the name bequeathed to you by your 
parents Is of more importance in your eyes than 
anything else. I tell you, therefore, in solemn 
earnest, that, if you are not here soon, your name 
of Risler will be shamed and disgraced ! 

“Sigismond Planus.” 


BOOK III. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE AVENGER. 

Titose persons whose lives are sedentary, either 
from infirmities or from the nature of their daily 
labors, become interested in the opposite windows 
and in the passers-by, to a degree that is not easily 
understood by those whose existences are of a totally 
different character. 

Madame Dellobelle and her daughter lived a 
very secluded life, and had, therefore, learned to 
feel a keen interest in the outside world that flowed 
on through their little street with a certain regu- 
larity. As the window was small, the mother, 
whose eyes were growing dim from advancing 
years and constant labor, sat nearest it, close behind 
the muslin curtains ; her daughter’s arm-chair was a 
little farther off, and the mother announced each 
passer-by : this gave food for much discussion, and 
shortened the long hours. There were two young 
sisters ; a gentleman in a gray coat ; a child attended 
by a servant, on its way to and from school. If it 


THE AVENGER. 


125 


rained, Madame Dellobelle would lament: “They 
will certainly be wet ! They will not get in be- 
fore the shower ! ” 

And when the spring sun shone in all its glory, 
or the snow whitened the pavements in Decembei, 
they only knew the change of the season by some 
new article of dress worn by one of their friends. 

Now, on a certain day of which we write, the 
air was soft and mild; every one seemed to he 
anxious to be out-of-doors; every window was 
thrown wide open. Desiree and her mother, how- 
ever, only sewed the faster, as they wished to make 
use of each ray of daylight. The voices of children 
playing in the street, the jingle of pianos, and the 
cries of some little merchant vaunting his goods, 
filled the air with an indefinable sense of spring. 
Madame Dellobelle at last put down her work, and 
stood at the window in the gathering darkness. 
“ There is M. Sigismond ! How early he leaves 
the factory to-night ! The days are long now, how- 
ever, and it must be after eight o’clock. Who is it 
with him ?” she continued, to her daughter, without 
turning around. “ Can it be — - Yes, it certainly is 
Frantz ! Look, my child ! ” 

But the young girl did not move ; her eyes were 
fixed, and her hands fell at her side. Her thoughts 
had taken wing to a far-distant land. The very 
name of Frantz, pronounced so carelessly by her 
mother, in consequence of a fancied resemblance 
borne by some stranger, was to her like throwing 
wide open the portals of her past and of her fu- 


126 


SID ON IE, 


ture. Hopes, as fleeting as the color on her cheeks, 
came to whisper delusive words in her ear. She 
remembered, too, how in days that seemed so far 
away she had learned to know his step on the 
stair ; to hear him as he drew his table nearer to the 
window. Alas ! what quiet pain she had suffered, 
as he sat there on that low chair, and talked of 
Sidonie! The very tone of his voice returned to 
her; the soft and tender look in his eyes, as he 
spoke of his future happiness. The young girl’s 
heart grew very heavy. The gathering darkness 
left only the square of the open window visible, 
near which still sat her mother. Suddenly the door 
opened : some one was there, though no one was to 
be distinguished. The Dellobelles rarely had visitors, 
and the mother thought it was some one from their 
employers. 

“ My husband has just taken our work home,” 
said Madame Dellobelle. 

The man came forward, still silent; the last 
faint rays of light from the window fell upon his 
bronzed face and long, light beard. 

“ Do you not know me ? ” said a familiar voice. 

“ I knew you at once,” answered Desiree, in a 
cold and measured tone. 

“ Good Heavens, it is Frantz ! ” cried Madame 
Dellobelle, running to light her lamp. “And you 
have come back to yOur old friends ! — Desiree, what 
an icicle you are ! Why do you not tell him how 
glad you are to see him again ? ” 

An icicle, indeed ! and she was as white as one, 


THE AVENGER. 


m 

while the little hand, now held by Frantz, was as Gold 
as snow. He thought her prettier than ever, while 
she looked up at his tall figure, full of admiration 
for his height and strength; but in his eyes she 
read a new expression, one of sadness and anxiety. 

This anxiety came from Sigismond’s letter, which 
had brought him at once. He came without wait- 
ing for permission from his employers, thus risking 
the loss of his position. His sadness was of an ear- 
lier date, and took possession of his whole nature at 
the time when the woman who had refused to marry 
him became the wife of his brother. It is true that 
before this marriage Risler had written to ask per- 
mission to be happy, and that in words so touching 
and so tender, that the violence of the blow was 
somewhat softened ; but the wound was, neverthe- 
less, very deep, and Frantz threw himself with vio- 
lence into his profession, and hoped, by breathless 
toil all day, to win sleep and forgetfulness at night 
But, in the anger and indignation that he now feels 
against his brother’s faithless wife, there lingers no 
trace of his former love — contempt has taken its 
place. It was not as a lover, but as an avenger, 
that he came, and Sidonie must be on her guard ! 
Instantly on his arrival the young man went to the 
manufactory, but no one was there. The shutters 
of the house at the end of the garden had been 
closed for two weeks. The gardener, Achille, in- 
formed him that the two ladies were in the country, 
and that their respective husbands went out of town 
every night. Frantz decided to speak to Sigismond, 


128 


SIB ON IE. 


but it was Saturday, pay-day, and he must wait 
until the crowd of operatives had left. Although 
impatient and out of spirits, Frantz experienced a 
keen pleasure in again finding himself in the whirl 
of life in the great city of Paris. In all these faces 
— some honest, others vicious — he read the same 
contentment, the same joy, at seeing the end of the 
week’s labors. For them, Sunday evidently began 
at the cashier’s desk, on Saturday evening, at seven 
o’clock. 

The operatives turned away from the desk, 
rattling the money that glittered in their palms. 
There were murmurs and complaints sometimes, as 
they were informed of certain fines, or of hours that 
they had omitted ; and above the tumult rose the 
calm, clear tones of SigismQnd, as he defended the 
interests of his masters. Frantz knew the scene all 
by heart ; he knew that those flitting shadows out- 
side the door were the wives or daughters, waiting 
to lead their husbands or fathers home past the 
tempting wine-shops. 

Sigismond was at last free. The two friends 
met cordially, and in the silent factory — now silent 
and empty for twenty-four hours — the cashier ex- 
plained fully the existing state of things. Sidonie 
— her lavish expenditures, the honor of her home 
lost and sacrificed — he fully dwelt upon. Eisler 
had just purchased a country-house at Asnieres, the 
former dwelling of an actress, and they were there 
installed in the most luxurious fashion. They had 
carriages and horses, and numerous servants, and, 


THE AVENGER. 


129 


in short, lived like people of enormous wealth. 
But what occasioned old Sigismond the greatest 
uneasiness was the fact that for some time George 
had not applied to him for money, and yet Sidonie 
spent more than ever. 

“My confidence is gotie,” said the unhappy 
cashier, shaking his head ; “ my confidence is gone ! ” 
Then, lowering his voice, he added: “But your 
brother, Frantz — your brother! Who will explain 
to us what he is thinking about ? He seems to be 
in a dream the greater part of the time. He thinks 
of nothing, cares for nothing, but this invention of 
his. Shall I tell you the question that every one is 
asking — ‘ Is the man a rascal or a fool ? 9 ” 

The two men were walking in the garden. 
Frantz believed himself to be the sport of a bad 
dream. His hurried voyage ; the sudden change of 
climate and surroundings ; Sigismond’ s rapid words ; 
the entire revolution of his preconceived ideas of 
Sidonie, the woman he had so loved ; of his brother, 
the man whose honor had always hitherto been un- 
suspected — all these things utterly bewildered him. 

It was late. Sigismond proposed that he should 
go home with him ; but Frantz refused, preferring 
to be alone. Mechanically he turned to his old 
quarters, and on the door saw the placard, “ To be 
let.” It was the same room where he and his 
brother had lived together for so many years, and 
opposite glistened the Dellobelles’ little sign. Their 
door was half open. Should he go in? In the 
whole of Paris he could not have found a safer 


130 


SID OKIE. 


shelter ; it was like a harbor of refuge — a shore 
radiant with sunshine and peace, where women sat 
and worked, and children played ; where the waters 
were calm and clear, while outside tempests roared 
and waves ran mountain-high ; and, more than all, 
without his knowing it, Desiree’s love for him cre- 
ated about her an atmosphere of gentle tenderness, 
that to his wounded, sore heart was inexpressibly 
grateful. Desiree, the little icicle, gradually thawed. 
They were talking with much animation, while Ma- 
dame Dellobelle spread the table. 

“ You will take supper with us, Frantz, ” she said. 
“ My husband has gone to carry our work home, but 
he will return soon.” 

The poor wife said this with a certain air of pride ; 
for, in truth, ever since the melancholy disappoint- 
ment attending Ins theatrical project, M. Dellobelle 
had taken all his meals in his own apartments, for 
he owed so large a bill at the restaurant that he 
really dared not return there. But he never failed, 
on Saturdays, to bring home with him one or two 
unexpected guests; so in a few moments he ap- 
peared, accompanied by two aGtors — one, wrinkled 
and shriveled, with an unmistakable air of the foot- 
lights ; the other, buttoned closely to the chin, with- 
out the smallest evidence of linen visible. Dello- 
belle announced his visitors pompously at the door, 
but interrupted himself in the middle of his pres- 
entation by catching sight of Frantz. “ Frantz ! 
my Frantz ! ” cried the old player, in a melodramatic 
tone, rushing forward with extended arms. 


THE AVENGER. 


131 


Desiree made a little face as she saw their vis- 
itors. It would have been so much more agreeable 
to have had no strangers there that evening; but 
her father cared little for this. His first thought 
was to empty his pockets. He drew out a superb 
pate — “for the ladies,” he said, forgetting that it 
was he himself who adored it. Then appeared a lob- 
ster and a huge sausage, some marrons glaces , and 
some early cherries. 

Meanwhile one of the guests pulled up an invisi- 
ble shirt-collar, and the other furtively watched the 
preparations for supper with hungry eyes. But 
Desiree thought with terror of the immense hole 
made by this improvised repast in their week’s 
earnings, and Madame Dellobelle was at her wits’ 
ends to find the requisite number of plates and 
knives. 

The supper was gay enough for the actors, but to 
the two women and Frantz the worn-out anecdotes of 
the theatre had an odor of extinguished lamps and 
empty benches. The three men recalled their enor- 
mous successes, for in their own opinion they had 
been the greatest men on the stage ; and while 
they talked they ate as actors eat — three-quarters 
turned to the audience, a napkin spread on one knee, 
alternate mouthfuls and phrases, expressing joy, 
terror, or surprise, by adroit management of the 
knife and fork. 

Madame Dellobelle listened with a smile, for a 
woman cannot be the wife of an actor for thirty years 
without sympathizing somewhat in his eccentricities. 


132 


SID ONI E. 


But at the comer of the table sat Frantz and 
Desiree. They talked in whispers, and heard little 
of what went on about them. Remembrances of 
their .childhood, which were of little value, save that 
they gave them a past in common, made up the sub- 
stance of their conversation. Suddenly Dellobelle 
interrupted them : 

“ You have not seen your brother,” he said to 
Frantz, “ nor his wife yet, have you ? There you 
will see a grande dame , and such toilets and such 
style ! They have a superb establishment at Asnieres. 
They are quite beyond us in these days — never a 
word ! never a visit ! A s for me, you understand 
that I am totally indifferent, but for these ladies it 
is somewhat humiliating.” 

“ O papa ! ” said Desiree, eagerly. “ You know 
that we love Sidonie too much not to excuse her ! ” 

The actor struck the table with his fist. u And 
that is precisely where you are in the wrong. If 
people insult you and humiliate you, you should not 
excuse them.” 

For the fancied wrongs of the old comedian still 
rankled in his soul. 

“ If you knew,” he said to Frantz, “ how close 
and grasping your brother has grown ! I asked him 
to lend me a small sum of money, which sum, small 
as it was, would have made my fortune. I offered 
him the best security; but, if you will credit my 
words, he refused me point-blank. His wife, for- 
sooth, must have it all ! She rides horseback, 
drives her pony-wagon, and altogether queens it 


THE AVENGER. 


133 


bravely ! Between ourselves, my dear boy, I doubt 
if they are a very happy pair. That little woman 
will make him turn all the colors of the rainbow 
yet, if I am not mistaken.” 

And the old actor winked at his friends. 

Frantz was thunderstruck. The horrible cer- 
tainty was presented to him on all sides. Sigismond 
had spoken from his point of view, Dellobelle from 
liis, but the result was the same. 

Supper was over at last, and the three actors ad- 
journed to the brewery to smoke. Frantz remained 
a while longer with the two women. 

Seeing him there at her side, Desiree felt her 
heart swell with gratitude to Sidonie. Was it not 
to her generosity that she owed even this semblance 
of happiness, this poor, fleeting pleasure ? And th'.r 
thought enabled her to defend her rival and ol » 
friend. 

“ It is not necessary to believe all that my father 
has said of your sister-in-law, Frantz. He is some- 
times given to exaggeration, you know. As for me, 
I am quite sure that Sidonie is incapable of the 
things of which she is accused. Her heart is the 
same as of old, and she loves her friends, even if she 
appears to neglect them a little. That is only nat- 
ural, after all. Do you not think so, Frantz '? ” 

How pretty he thought her as -she was speaking ! 
Her delicate, high-bred face, her pure coloring, and 
soft, tender eyes, charmed him. And, while sliC 
thus warmly defended her friend, Frantz Bisle* 
thought, with a throb of manlike selfishness, that 


134 


SID ON IE. 


this girl had loved him, loved him still, perhaps, and 
that her heart was a refuge for him when tossed 
and wounded by the storms of the outer w r orld. 

All night in his old room, still rocked by his 
ocean -voyage, by the noise of waves and strong 
winds, he dreamed of the far-away days of his youth, 
of “ little Chebe,” of Desiree, of their plays, and his 
school-days. 

Then, when the morning sun glanced through 
his curtainless windows, and partially awakened 
him, he dreamed that it was the hour for his school, 
and that his brother opened the door on his way to 
the factory, and cried : 

“ Up with you, lazy-bones ! ” 

That good, kind voice, too real for a dream, 
made him open his eyes wide, and start up. 

There stood Eisler, watching him tenderly, who 
in his joy at again seeing his brother could find no 
other words than the old ones, “ I am so happy ! ” 
Although the day was Sunday, Eisler had come 
to the quiet factory, unable to keep longer away 
from the model of his beloved invention, and was 
there met by Achille, with the intelligence of the 
arrival of Frantz. He started off to the youth’s old 
quarters, a little vexed that he had not been in- 
formed in advance by letter, and, above all, that 
Frantz had not gone out to Asnieres instantly on 
reaching Paris. This vexation he at once expressed 
to his brother, who offered the excuse of excessive 
fatigue, and also a certain pleasure he had in again 
occupying their old room. 


THE AVENGER. 


135 


“ I understand all that,” interrupted Risler ; 
“but now you are going home with me. Won’t 
Sidonie be surprised? We often talk of you, and of 
our regret that you were so far away.” 

And the poor man, overwhelmed with joy, be- 
came silent, and looked with admiring eyes on the 
well - grown, broad - shouldered man before him. 
While Risler was thus occupied, Frantz, in his turn, 
examined the gentle, serious, and contemplative face 
of his brother. 

“ No ; it is impossible,” he said to himself. “ He 
is the soul of honor; as he always was.” Then recall- 
ing all the cruel suspicions of the people about him, 
his anger concentrated on that vain woman who de- 
ceived her husband so grossly that she ended by giv- 
ing the world the right to look upon him as her 
accomplice. What a terrible explanation he should 
have with her ! how severely he should speak to her * 
No subterfuges, but the stern, unvarnished truth 
would come from his lips. He thought of all this 
as they went their way on that lovely Sunday morn- 
ing. The car was crowded. Risler sat opposite, and 
talked without stopping. He spoke of the manu- 
factory, and of the fortune they were making ; and 
how, when his invention was perfected, their profits 
would be quadrupled. 

“But,” said Frantz, uneasily, “are you quite 
sure of the success of your invention ? ” 

“ Sure ? of course I am sure. I will show you 
all my plans ; and next week, under my own eyes, 
the manufacture of my machine will begin. In 


136 


SIDONIE. 


three months I shall have obtained my patent, and 
my Invention will he at work. You will see, my 
hoy, how money will pour in on me, and how happy 
I shall he to have it in my power to recompense 
young Fromont for all the kindness lavished on me 
hy his father ! ” 

Then he began to talk of his domestic happiness. 
Sidonie was the best of wives. They had a happy 
home, and had gathered a small hut select circle 
about them. His wife sang like a nightingale, 
thanks to her teacher, Madame Dobson, who was 
a charming little woman. In -fact, he had but one 
anxiety, one annoyance in the world, and that was a 
certain coolness that had arisen between himself and 
Sigismond ; whence it came, or its cause, he knew 
not. Frantz, perhaps, would assist him in clearing 
up the mystery. 

“ Certainly I will,” answered Frantz through 
his close-shut teeth ; for he grew hot with rage that 
any one should venture to suspect a baseness hidden 
under such childlike frankness. 

As they drew near Asnieres, Frantz perceived a 
small house built like a miniature castle, all turrets 
and towers. The clear, crystal panes of the win- 
dows were shaded by rose-colored curtains ; and on 
the green lawn glittered a huge metal ball. The 
river ran very near, and at the little wharf lay a 
flock of small boats, with the dust of the road on 
their pretentious names. From her windows Sido- 
nie could see several restaurants, closed and silent 
during the week, but on Sundays running over with a 


THE AVENGER. 


137 


noisy crowd. The newly-grown grass was worn and 
yellow under their feet, and the whole aspect of the 
spot was thoroughly vulgar. Sidonie, a cockney in 
all her feelings, was delighted with it, for she had 
always heard Asnieres spoken of as the most desira- 
ble of all country-places in which to reside ; for the 
number of trains permitted one to go into Paris 
every evening and return after the theatres. “ Lit- 
tle Chebe” bad beard this from childhood, and 
Sidonie Risler was determined to fulfill all “ little 
Cliebe’s” dreams. 

The two brothers let themselves in at the gar- 
den-gate. They passed the billiard-room, a few 
rods away from the house, and the conservatory- 
looking, the whole of them, like a toy villa that 
comes, for a child’s amusement, in various bits that 
take apart and can be packed in a box — the whole 
affair light and airy, as if it would blow away in the 
first puff of wind. 

Frantz looked about him. The long, broad win- 
dows, opening on a wide piazza, gave him' a full 
view of* the interior ; while a low, American rocking- 
chair, a table with a coffee-equipage upon it, and a 
cane-seated sofa, stood on the piazza. A piano was 
heard from within. 

“ Sidonie will be somewhat astonished,” said her 
husband, as they carefully walked over the gravel ; 
“ she does not expect me until night, and is practis- 
ing with Madame Dobson.” Just as he reached 
the door, he shouted loudly, “ Guess who is with 
me ! ” 


138 


SID ONI & 


Madame Dobson started up, while George and 
Sidonie appeared suddenly on the threshold of the 
boudoir. 

“ Row you frightened me ! 55 she cried, running 
to meet her husband. 

The ruffles and flounces of her white peignoir, 
with its bows and floating ends of blue ribbon, rus- 
tled and waved as she moved. Already recovered 
from her brief embarrassment, she said, with her 
ever-ready little smile, to Frantz, “ Welcome, my 
brother ! ” 

Bisler left them to each other, and turned to 
George, whom he was somewhat surprised to see. 

“What! George, you here? I thought you 
were at Savigny.” 

“Yes, I wanted to see you; and I supposed 
you would be here to-day,” stammered the young 
man. 

Sidonie disappeared, and Madame Dobson con- 
tinued at the piano, the half-subdued tones of which 
reminded one of the music that, at the theatre, 
occasionally accompanies or heralds critical situa- 
tions. 

Risler, with his customary good-humor, apolo- 
gized to his partner, and took Frantz on a tour of 
inspection over the house. They went from the 
drawing-room to the stable, and to the conservatory ; 
all was new and bright, but cramped and inconven- 
ient. 

'* But,” said Risler, with a certain pride, “ it cost 
an enormous sum of money.” 


THE A VENGER. 


139 


He insisted on showing his brother everything 
— gas and water on each floor, the automatic bells, 
and the English billiard-table — and all this with 
constant references to his young partner, who, in 
taking him into the firm, had opened such a brill- 
iant future to him. 

At each new effusion of Risler’s, George Fro- 
mont felt his very brow burn under the singular 
expression of Frantz’s eyes. 

At table, Madame Dobson was almost the only 
one who spoke ; knowing, or rather believing that 
she knew, the entire history of her friend and host- 
ess, she thought she understood the sulky anger of 
Frantz, an old lover, furious at being replaced ; and 
the anxiety of George, disturbed by the unlooked-for 
appearance of a rival, appeared but natural to the 
sentimental singing-mistress. She looked first at 
one and then at another with an encouraging smile, 
and was filled with admiration of Sidonie’s compos- 
ure, and reserved her contempt and disdain for 
“ that old Risler, that abominable tyrant ! ” 

As soon as lunch was over, George announced 
his intention of returning at once to Savigny. Ris- 
ler did not venture to detain him, as he thought of 
his dear “ Madame George ” all alone, but went to 
the station to see him off. 

Sidonie and Frantz sat in a little arbor covered 
with clustering roses, while Dobson returned to her 
piano. 

Sidonie sat in silence, looking off at the 
water. 


140 


SID ON IE. 


Frantz, too, was silent. Suddenly, just as she 
opened her lips to speak, he said : 

“ I must talk to you.” 

“ Precisely,” she answered, gravely ; “ but come 
this way, we shall be less likely to be interrupted.” 
And they entered a small summer-house at the foot 
of the garden. 


CHAPTER II. 


EXPLANATION. 

It was most fortunate #iat the hour had come 
for some stop to be put to Sidonie’s reckless con- 
duct. Her defiance of all Us convenances — the lux- 
ury that she affected — ‘the enormous sums of money 
that she lavished — all announced that the end could 
not be far away ; that she would soon sink from the 
surface of the whirlpool in which she had been in- 
gulfed to the dark depths below ; and that with her 
she would drag the honor of her husband, and per- 
haps the name and fortunes of a respectable house. 
Her present surroundings hastened her ruin. In 
Paris she was compelled to pay a certain regard to 
appearances, but in this village she tvas, as it 
were, utterly alone. A pistol-shot in a neighboring 
house — the melancholy ending of an intrigue as silly 
as it was disgraceful— only caused her to smile, and 
to long for “ adventures.” The days on which she 
was not to be seen going or coming from Paris she 
spent in absolute indolence, wrapped in a white 
dressing-gown, never occupying herself with the 
details of her house. The servants robbed her 
constantly, but she knew nothing of it. Little by 


142 


SID ON IE. 


little, she lost all ambition; she descended to her 
former shop-girl level, and even below it. From 
tjie respectable mercantile circles to which her mar- 
riage had raised her, she fell to the position of the 
women she saw about her. She imitated them in 
her dress and her manners, cut her hair short over 
her forehead like a Skye terrier, and for two months 
flourished as an absolute blonde, greatly to Eisler’s as- 
tonishment, who looked as if he had changed his doll. 

As to George, these freaks amp^ed him, and it 
was he who was the real master of the house. 

To amuse Sidonie, he had procured for Irer. a 
semblance of society, some bachelor friends, but no 
women — women have too good eyes. Madame Dob- 
son was the only lady who crossed Sidonie’s thresh- 
old. 

Picnics, dinners, and water-parties, were arranged. 
Each day Eisler’s position became more ridiculous, 
more shocking. When he arrived at night, tired, 
heated, and badly dressed, he must go at once and 
dress for dinner. 

“ Hurry ! ” his wife would say. 

He obeyed her injunctions, coming in perhaps 
after the soup had been sent away. The guests he 
hardly knew ; they were George’s friends, who had 
come to talk business at Eisler’s table. This magic 
word “ business ” explained and justified everything 
in Eisler’s eyes. The constant presence of George, 
the choice of the guests, and Sidonie’s exquisite toi- 
lets, were all in the interest of the great firm with 
which it was his pride and joy to be connected. 


EXPLANATION. 


143 


George, however, watched the increasing coquet- 
ry and recklessness of Sidonie with growing dis- 
trust and uneasiness. He made his appearance al- 
most daily at her house, fearing to leave this art- 
ful, unprincipled nature too much to her own de- 
vices. 

“ Where is your husband, Claire ? ” her grand- 
father would say. “ Why does he not come here 
offener ? ” 

Claire excused George, but she herself had at 
last begun to grow very anxious. The tears came 
to her eyes when she received the brief letters with 
which her husband coolly announced his detention 
in town : “ Do not expect me to-night or to-morrow. 
Perhaps, the day after, I can get away.” 

She dined sadly, opposite a vacant chair, and, 
without knowing the worst, felt that her husband 
was drifting away from her. He was out of spirits 
and abse -minded when he was compelled by cir- 
cumstances to appear at Savigny. Claire, sustaining 
with Sidonie o»ly the coolest relations, knew nothing 
of what was going on at Asnieres, and, when George 
hurried off, followed him with eyes that in vain 
sought to discover the secret that drew him so con- 
stantly from herself and their child. Her husband 
was in no degree happier than she, for Sidonie 
seemed to take a perverse pleasure in tormenting 
him. She received the most compromising atten- 
tions from several persons. One Casaboni, an Ital- 
ian tenor, introduced by Madame Dobson, went to 
sing with her every day. George appeared, too, 


144 


SIDONIE. 


every afternoon, and began to think that Risler did 
not take sufficient care of his wife. 

Had she been his wife, George thought to him- 
self, he would have kept her in better order. But 
he had no right to control her, and from him she 
would not bear one word. Sometimes, too, with 
that invincible logic that makes itself felt even by 
fools, he argued that, as she had deceived her hus- 
band, so might she deceive him in his turn. 

He spent his time in going from jeweler to jew- 
eler, to procure some novelty, some surprise. How 
well he knew her, after all ! He realized that he 
could retain her interest and her affection, such as 
they were, only so long as he could amuse her. 

That day, however, had not yet arrived. She 
was living the life that precisely suited her — had all 
the happiness she was capable of feeling. In her 
love for George lingered no element either of pas- 
sion or romance. He was merely a second husband, 
younger, but above all richer, than the other. Just, 
before the arrival of Frantz, startled by some whis- 
pers that reached her ear, she had established her 
parents at Asnieres, in her vicinity ; and with a 
father willfully blind, and a mother tenderly unsus- 
picious, she gave herself an air of respectability, of 
the advantages of which she was beginning to be 
conscious. 

Everything was thus arranged to her satisfac- 
tion, when suddenly Frantz Risler appeared on the 
scene, and she saw at once that her repose was 
threatened, and that war was to be declared between 


EXPLANATION. 


145 


them. In a minute her plan was formed, and the 
time had now arrived to put it in action. 

The summer-house they entered was a circular 
room with windows on four sides. It was fur- 
nished for those warm days when the heat of the 
garden would be unendurable. A large divan ran 
• round the whole wall, and a small lacquered table 
occupied the centre, covered with books and pa- 
pers. 

The walls were delicately frescoed, and the de- 
sign was so exquisite — birds among pale pink and 
white roses — that it was like a dream of summer in 
itself; the windows were shaded with masses of 
green vines, so that the interior was delightfully 
cool and dark. The sound, too, of water — the river 
lapping the shores with a gentle ripple — added to 
the charm of the apartment. Sidonie threw her- 
self carelessly on the divan, the soft folds of her 
white drapery swelling like sea-foam about her. 
Her head was slightly bent forward, and she looked 
up at Frantz with eyes that were openly rebellious 
— almost threatening in expression. 

Frantz stood erect and very pale. 

“ Accept my congratulations, madame,” he said, 
as he looked about him. “ You understand the full 
meaning of the word comfortable, I see.” And 
immediately, as if afraid to allow the conversation 
to wander from the point to which he wished to lead 
it, he said quickly : “ To whom are you indebted 
for all this luxury — to your husband or your lov- 
er ? ” 


7 


146 


SID ON IE. 


Without moving, and without turning her eyes 
away, Sidonie answered : 

“ To both.” 

He was utterly disconcerted by this unexpected 
coolness. 

“ You admit, then, that George Fromont is — ? ” 

“ I admit nothing.” 

Frantz looked at her; notwithstanding her calm- 
ness, she was frightfully pale, and her eternal little 
smile no longer hovered about her lips. 

“ Listen to me, Sidonie. My brother’s name, the 
name he gave to his wife, belongs also to me. Risler 
is blind and weak, and just for that reason it be- 
comes my duty to defend him from the consequences 
of your attacks on his happiness and honor. There- 
fore I bid you say to M. Fromont that he shall not 
again enter these doors ; if he does — ■” 

“ If he does ? ” asked Sidonie, after a moment’s 
pause, looking up from her rings, with which she 
had been playing. 

“ If he does, I shall most assuredly inform my 
brother of all that is going on. My revelation will 
kill him, perhaps, but you may be sure that he will 
kill you first ! ” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Let him kill me ! — what of that ? ” 

These words were said in so dreary a tone that 
Frantz, in spite of himself, felt an emotion of pity 
for this beautiful young creature who had so thrown 
away her life, who spoke of dying as if it were the 
end of all things. 


EXPLANATION. 


147 


“ You love him, then,” he said, in a tone slight- 
ly softened — “ you love him, since you prefer death 
to giving him up ? ” 

She threw her head back haughtily. 

“ I ? Do you think I could love a man like that 
— a man without intellect or force ? No ; I accepted 
his attentions as I would have done those of the first 
man who came in my way.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because it was necessary — because I was mad 
— because I had in my heart, and have still, a crimi- 
nal love that I desire to uproot — it matters not at 
what price ! ” 

She had risen and stood in front of him, her 
eyes looking into his. 

A criminal love ! What did she mean ? 

Frantz was afraid to ask, for he understood by 
her look, by her attitude, that something terrible 
was in store for him ; but his self-assumed function 
of judge compelled him to ask. 

“ Who is it ? ” he said, slowly. 

She answered in a low T , dull voice : 

“You know very well that I mean yourself ! ” 

She was his brother’s wife. For two years he 
had thought of her only as his sister. To him, too, 
this wife of his brother bore not the smallest resem- 
blance to his former fiancee^ and in his eyes it would 
have been a crime to recognize in her a single feat- 
ure of the young girl to whom he had so # often 
whispered the words,. “I love you.” And nowit 
was she who said she loved hiiH ! 


148 


SID ON IE. 


The unhappy, bewildered judge stood silent. 
She, opposite, waited for him to speak. 

It was one of those warm, damp days of spring, 
when the air is laden with the perfume of flowers 
and shrubs; the sweet voice of Madame Dobson 
floated through the open windows on the soft spring 
air, and from below came the gentle lapping of the 
waves. 

“ Yes, Frantz, I have always loved you,” said 
Sidonie ; “ I renounced this love in girlish igno- 
rance, but it has grown with my years and with the 
wisdom that came with them. When I found that 
Desiree loved you also, I thought of the glory of 
self-sacrifice, and of her misfortunes, and I deter- 
mined to make her happy, and I repulsed you that 
you might turn to her. But as soon as you were 
gone, I found that I had over-estimated my own 
strength. Poor little Desiree ! will you believe that 
I have hated her ever since ? The very sight of her 
occasioned me such keen anguish that I have never 
been near her in all these months.” 

“ But if you loved me,” asked Frantz, in low, 
half -frightened tones — “ if you loved me, why did 
you marry my brother ? ” 

She did not wince. 

“ To marry Bisler was to bring myself nearer 
you. I said to myself : 6 I cannot be his wife, but I 
can be his sister ; in that way I may love and care 
for him, and shall not live a life utterly apart from 
his.’ Alas ! these were the simple struggles of a 
young girl, the folly of which only experience can 


EXPLANATION. 


149 


demonstrate to ns. I could not love you with sis- 
terly affection, Frantz ; neither could I forget you ; 
with another husband than Easier I might have done 
so. But he talked to me constantly of you — of your 
prospects — of your success and plans. And then, 
worse than all, your brother spoke to me in your 
voice ; in his step, in his ways, there is a strange 
family resemblance, that haunts and bewilders me. 
I determined to seek some distraction. I offer no 
apology for myself — I simply state the bare fact of 
my utter misery. I listened to George in a moment 
of desperation, hoping that through him I could be 
drawn out of my life, which was monotonous, and 
gave me too much time for thought. But I swear 
to you, Frantz, that in this whirlpool of excitement 
and amusement, by w r hich I have been ingulfed, I 
have never ceased to think of you ; and, if any one 
had the right to come here as an accuser, it was cer- 
tainly not yourself, who has made me, unconscious- 
ly, it is true, precisely what I am.” 

She was silent, choked by her tears. 

Frantz dared not look at her. The miserable 
man felt that his former passion had resumed its 
sway over his heart. Neither did he dare speak, 
for he felt that, did he open his lips, words of pity 
and of passion would escape. 

He turned away in silence. As he reached the 
door, Sidonie darted after him — snatched his hand — 
hers was soft and warm — his icy cold. At that mo- 
ment Bisler’s tall form passed the window. “ They 
must be here, M. Chebe,” he said, gayly ; “ for we 


150 


SID ONI E. 


looked in tlie arbor.” So saying, he entered the 
room, accompanied by his father- and mother-in- 

law. 

Madame Chebe, for whom Frantz had always 
had a certain charm, welcomed him cordially; and 
her husband said, in a most patronizing tone, “ And 
how is the canal at Suez getting on % ” — while Ris- 
ler talked loudly of killing the fatted calf for the 
returned prodigal, and then shouted to the singing- 
mistress : 

“ Madame Dobson — Madame Dobson! do, pray, 
sing something more cheerful, or play us a waltz, 
for my mother-in-law and I are perishing for a 
dance ! ” 

“ Risler, are you quite crazy \ ” cried Madame 
Chebe, as her son-in-law drew her along the alley in 
a wild dance, for the good man was really intoxi- 
cated with joy. 

For Frantz the day was one interminable series 
of agonies. Suez and his brother’s invention were 
talked of until he failed to grasp the meaning of a 
single sentence. Sidonie was very silent, and seemed 
wrapped in her own thoughts ; and Frantz, without 
daring to look at her, watched her blue-silk um- 
brella, and the undulations of her white drapery. 
How she had changed in these last two years ! But 
had she improved ? Then a horrible idea occurred 
to him. It was a race-day at Longchamps, and a 
constant succession of carriages rolled past, filled 
with women ; or a low pony-wagon, driven by a 
woman with rouged cheeks, who sat stiffly forward. 


EXPLANATION. 


151 


her veil drawn tightly back, and her little sun-shade 
and whip held in her hand. She looked like a doll 
that was wound up for a certain length of time ; 
nothing seemed really living about her, save her 
charcoaled eyes, that were immovably fixed on her 
horses’ heads. Sidonie looked like these creatures — 
Sidonie could have driven George’s horses in that 
same way. Frantz started! Was he not at that 
moment in George’s carriage ? Had he not drunk 
his wine ? And did not all this luxury, by which 
he was at this moment surrounded, come from 
George ? 

It was shameful, revolting ! He owed it to him- 
self to expose the whole tissue of deceptions to his 
brother. Had he not come for that ? But his cour- 
age was gone. 

That evening, after dinner, Kisler urged his 
wife to sing. He was anxious that she should ex- 
hibit all her new accomplishments to his brother. 

Sidonie begged to be excused, but madame tossed 
her long English curls, and seated herself at the 
piano to play the accompaniment. 

“ But I know nothing — what do you wish me to 
sing % ” She ended by deciding for herself. Pale 
and absorbed — in the flickering light of the candles, 
which seemed to exhale perfume with their light — 
so intense was the odor from the garden of lilacs 
and lilies — Sidonie sang a strange little creole mel- 
ody, with quaint, provincial words, very popular in 
Louisiana, whence it had been brought and set to 
music by Madame Dobson : 


152 


SID 0 NIK 


“ Pauvre petit Mam’zelle Zizi, 

O’est l’amou’, l’amou’, qui tourne la t6te ! ” — 

and in narrating the fate of the poor little Zizi, who 
had been driven mad by love, Sidonie herself as- 
sumed the air of a woman carried away by passion. 
With the pathetic cry of a wounded dove, she took 
up the melancholy refrain in the colonial patois : 

“ O’est l’amou’, l’amou’, qui tourne la t6te.” 

The siren had not been judicious in her choice 
of a song. The very name of Zizi transported 
Frantz to the quiet room where sat Desiree Dello- 
belle — she who had loved him so patiently and so 
long. In her childhood she had been called Zizi, 
and the singer seemed to be extolling her charms 
and her fidelity. Again he was at her side, waiting 
for the tardy coming of her father. Yes, it was 
there and only there, Frantz said to himself, that 
he could find a safe shelter from the temptations 
that assailed him in this enervating, unwholesome 
atmosphere. 

In Desiree’s love he would take refuge. He 
would go to her and say, “ Help me, save me ! ” 
And who knows that a pure and innocent affection 
would not fill his heart, to the exclusion of his pres- 
ent guilty passion ? 

“ Where are you going ? ” asked Kisler, seeing 
his brother rise abruptly as soon as the last bar of 
the song had come to an end. 

“ I am going away — it is late.” 

u What of that ? You will sleep here, of course.” 


EXPLANATION. 


153 


He refused. His presence in Paris was abso- 
lutely necessary for certain matters of business in- 
trusted to him by bis employers. Again they en- 
treated him, but be hurried tbrougb the garden, 
and soon took bis seat in the train. 

When be bad gone, bis brother went to bis own 
room, but Sidonie and Madame Dobson lingered be- 
low. The music from a neighboring casino came to 
them broken by the regular, distant song of the boat- 
men on the river. 

“ A regular spoil-sport 1 ” said Madame Dobson. 

“ Frantz, you mean ? ” asked Sidonie ; “ but I 
have checkmated him, I fancy : only, v e. must be 
very careful, for he is of an extremely jealous tem- 
perament. I must write at once to Casaboni, to tell 
him not to come here for some time. And you must 
go the first thing in the morning to see George ; 
tell him to depart at once to Savigny, and to stay 
there for a fortnight.” 


CHAPTER III. 


POOR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZI. 

Ah ! how happy Desiree was in those days ! 
Frantz came every evening regularly, and he rarely 
mentioned Sidonie. 

In the morning, as soon as she was seated at her 
work, a gentle tap was heard. “ Good-morning, 
Mademoiselle Zizi ! ” for so he always now called 
her. 

In the evening they waited together for the old 
actor; and, while she worked, he told her of the 
strange new country which was to he his future 
home. 

“What is it, my dear, that has so waked you 
up?” said her mother; for the lame girl, instead of 
sitting all day long, as had been her habit, now 
moved up and down the room, held herself very 
erect, and asked “ if it showed when she was not 
walking.” 

Her simple dress was now rarely without its 
knots of dainty ribbon, and her beautiful hair was 
arranged with the greatest care. Every one noticed 
the change, and even her birds and beetles partook 
of its results, and had an entirely different air. 


POOR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZI. 155 


Yes, the young girl was very happy. For some 
days Frantz had spoken of an excursion into the 
country ; and as the papa, always good, always gen- 
erous, made no objection, they started early one 
Sunday morning. 

You may imagine the anxiety with which Desi- 
ree retired the night before. When the girl opened 
her window at six o’clock, and saw the sweetness 
and freshness of the morning, and thought of the 
trees, the fields, and the flowers, that she had not 
seen for so long a time, and that she was to be- 
hold that day again, on the arm of the person dear- 
est to her in the world, tears filled her eyes. 

The evening before, Frantz had brought her a 
dainty silk umbrella with an ivory handle ; and the 
girl had carefully arranged every detail of her sim- 
ple costume. The result was altogether charming. 

At nine o’clock precisely, Frantz appeared in a 
carriage. He sprang lightly up the stairs to sum- 
mon his guests. Zizi came down without any assist- 
ance save that of the railing. Madame Dellobelle 
followed close behind, watching her daughter care- 
fully. Dellobelfe himself, a new overcoat folded on 
his arm, stood at the door of the carriage. 

What a charming drive that was! The pure 
air, the waving trees, and brilliant flowers, filled the 
girl’s heart with joy. Do not ask where they went. 
Desiree never knew. She could only have told you 
that no sun ever shone so brightly, no birds ever 
sang so sweetly, as those she heard that day. When 
she was much younger she had had an occasional 


156 


SIDONIE. 


day of country pleasure ; but, as she grew older, ever- 
increasing pain aggravated by motion, the necessi- 
ty of economizing every moment as well as every 
penny, had held her as by invisible bonds to that old 
quarter of Paris inhabited by her parents. Distant 
roofs, and the new red bricks of the Fromont man- 
ufactory, bounded her horizon, but the girl was not 
discontented. Therefore, for some time she had 
seen no flowers save what grew in pots on her win- 
dow-sill ; no trees save the acacias waving in the 
summer wind in the Fromont garden. Thus what 
joy swelled her heart as she looked on the beautiful 
turf bejeweled with tiny flowers! She clapped her 
hands in childlike ecstasy. Frantz kept near her, 
ready to aid her at every turn ; and this Wonder- 
ful day passed like a heavenly vision* The great, 
blue sky seemed to float above the gn&en branches ; 
the narrow glades with perhaps a gleam of the 
horizon in the distance, the flowers, and the vines, 
ravished and bewildered her. 

Toward evening, when the sun was setting, and 
she saw the long lines of tremulous light on the 
river, and far away, between two hills, a thick, fog- 
like mass of roofs and steeples, and was told that 
there lay Paris, she cast one look at the lovely scene 
about her, and laid away in her memory all the ex- 
quisite landscape with its odor of hawthorn, as if 
never, never should she see it again. 

The flowers that the young girl took away with 
her perfumed her room for days and days. The 
hyacinths and violets, the fair blossoms of the thorn, 


POOR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZI. 15 ? 


were mingled witli a crowd of smaller flowers, of 
which even the names were unknown to her. 

In looking at them, how many times did little 
Zizi live over again each occurrence of that memo- 
rable day ! The violets reminded her of the bed of 
moss where she had found them, and where, kneel- 
ing at the side of Frantz, she had gathered them. As 
she thought, she worked, and a gleam of sunshine, 
coming through a half-opened window, touched the 
breasts of the humming-birds on the table, and trans- 
formed the tiny feathers to glittering jewels. Spring 
and youth, hope and love, glorified this poor little 
work-room on the fifth floor. 

Frantz by this time was equally happy. Desi- 
ree, by degrees, had won his heart completely. Even 
the remembrance of Sid'onie, he fancied, had de- 
parted. He had never gone to Asnieres again. 
“ Oome home with me,” his brother had said ; “ Si- 
donie insists on your dining with us to-day.” But 
Frantz pretended to be overwhelmed with business. 
It was easy, too, to induce Kisler to accept this ex- 
cuse. Each time that Frantz left his brother’s office, 
he was intercepted by old Sigismond, his pen behind 
his ear, and his knife in his hand. He kept the 
young man informed of all that went on. George, 
he said, came regularly to his office, and went out 
to Savigny every night. Ho more bills had been 
presented to him for payment. 

“You see,” said the cashier, triumphantly, “I 
was quite right in sending for you to come home ; 
but, all the same,” said the good man, “ I feel as 


158 


SID 0 NIK 


if we were all treading on the edge of a quick- 
sand.” 

“ Have no fear,” answered the engineer ; “ I am 
on the lookout.” 

“You will he here for some time longer, I 
hope ? ” asked the cashier, anxiously. 

“ Eot for long. I have a matter of the highest 
importance to arrange before I go, however.” 

This matter was Frantz’s marriage to Desiree, 
lie had spoken of it to no one, not even to her, but 
little Zizi had no doubts, evidently, for she was as 
happy and as gay as a lark. 

They were alone one Sunday afternoon — Madame 
Dellobelle had just gone out, proud and happy to 
show herself on her husband’s arm, carefully dressed. 
Frantz had a certain festal air, and a look of sup- 
pressed excitement ; and from the very way in which 
lie drew his chair toward her sofa Desiree under- 
stood that he was about to say something of the 
gravest importance. Their conversation began by 
indifferent phrases; then came along silence. At 
this moment a gentle tap at the door. 

“ Come in ! ” said Desiree, impatiently ; and 
Sidonie appeared, beautifully dressed — smiling and 
gracious. She had just run in for a moment to see 
her little Desiree. 

The presence of her brother-in-law seemed to 
astonish her greatly ; but, amid her coaxing words 
to her friend, she had neither eyes nor ears for 
him. After a time, however, she asked to see the 
window on the staircase and the room where the 


POOR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZI. 159 


brothers had lived. It pleased her, she said, half 
sadlv, to recall those days of her youth. 

“ Do you remember, Frantz, when the princess 
came to call on you, wearing on her little head a 
diadem of feathers ? ” 

Frantz did not reply ; he was too disturbed. 
Something told him that this woman had come there 
for him alone — that she wished to fascinate and in- 
toxicate him — and he felt, with an emotion of min- 
gled despair and rage, that, he should fall into the net 
she thus spread. Desiree suspected nothing — Sido- 
nie’s air was so gentle and friendly ; besides, they 
were brother and sister ; of course, there could be 
no question of love between them. 

Nevertheless, the lame girl liad a vague presen- 
timent of coming sorrow, when Sidonie turned on 
the threshold, and said to her brother-in-law, care- 
lessly : 

a By-the-way, Frantz, Risler bade me bring you 
out to dinner ; the carriage is at the door, and we 
will take him up as we pass his office.” 

Then, with a half smile, she added : 

“You will let us have him, Zizi, will you not? 
We will return him to you.” 

And he went with her — without onee looking 
back, swept away by his passion as by a furious sea ; 
and neither that day nor the following one did 
poor little Zizi hear the words which had been on 
her lover’s lips. 


CHAPTER IY. 


THE WAITING-BOOM. 

“ I love you — I love you more than ever — and 
forever! Why struggle longer? Our passion is 
stronger than ourselves. We were destined for 
each other ; is it a crime to fulfill our destiny ? 
Come, then. To-morrow night, at the Lyons sta- 
tion, I shall expect you ; he punctual — ten o’clock 
— the tickets will he taken, and I shall watch- -for 
you. Fkantz.” 

For a whole month Sidonie had expected this 
letter — for a month she had sought to induce her 
brother-im-law to place on paper this written expies- 
sion of his passion. It was not easy to pervert this 
young heart, naturally so frank and honest. When 
she believed him nearly subjugated, his sense of 
right conquered, and he was ready to fiy from her 
forever. Therefore, when this letter was handed to 
her one morning, she was very triumphant. Ma- 
dame Dobson was there ; she had come laden with 
complaints from George. 

“ Ah, the poor fellow ! ” said the sentimental 
American ; “ if you could but see how unhappy he 
is!” And while she spoke she untied her music, 


THE WAITING-ROOM. 


161 


where she had carefully hidden his letter, only too 
delighted to have any part in this love-affair, where 
a tyrant of a husband was to be outwitted and pun- 
ished. Singularly enough, while Madame Dobson 
had no objection to carrying love-letters to and fro, 
she had never written received one herself. 

When Sidonie showed her brother-in-law’s letter 
to Dobson, the latter said, u And what did you an- 
ew 3r ? ” 

“ c Yes’ — neither more nor less ! ” 

“ What ! Do you mean to run away with this 
madman ? ” Sidonie laughed contemptuously. 

“ Hot precisely. I said c Yes,’ so that he might 
wait for me at the railway-station. He deserves at 
least a half-hour of suspense. He has made mo 
miserable for a month. I have changed all my daily 
life and habits. I closed my doors on my friends — 
beginning with George and finishing with yourself ; 
for you know, my dear, that he was even out of 
conceit with you.” 

But Sidonie did not say that her strongest rear 
son for her growing dislike of her brother-in-law 
was, that he had terrified her by threats of expos- 
ure to her husband. Ever since that day in the 
summer-house, she had felt ill at ease in his presence, 
and was haunted by a constant wonder as to wh ; 
he would do should he ever learn the truth in regard 
to her. These cold, fair men often have fearful 
tempers — not tempers that are easily aroused, per- 
haps, but they remind one of those dangerous ex- 
plosive mixtures, without color or ©dor, that one 


162 


SID ONI E. 


fears- to meddle with, because no one knows their 
full power. She shivered with dread as she thought 
that the evil day might be near at hand. Of her 
former life she had preserved various strange tales 
of dishonored homes, enraged husbands, and deeds 
of revenge. Visions of death haunted her waking 
hours as well as her dreams ; and death, its eternal 
repose, its profound silence, terrified this poor, shrink- 
ing little creature, absorbed in pleasure, mad for 
excitement and amusement. This unfortunate let- 
ter put an end to all these fears ; now it was impos- 
sible for Frantz to denounce her, even in a moment 
of rage, for he had placed a powerful weapon in her 
hand. The moment he opened his lips, that mo- 
ment she would produce his letter, and all his accu- 
sations would seem to Kisler the merest calumnies. 
She was radiant with delight; she threw her win- 
dows wide open to the sun and air, and at once 
issued multitudinous orders to cook and gardener. 
Her house must be made delightful, for was not 
George coming again ? She made her arrangements 
for a large dinner at the end of the week. One 
would have thought that she had returned home 
after a month’s seclusion in a convent, so eager was 
she for movement and life. 

The next evening, Sidonie, her husband, and 
Madame Dobson, were together in the salon. Eis- 
ler sat drawing at the table, while his wife sang at 
the piano to Madame Dobson’s accompaniment. 
Suddenly she stopped in the middle of a bar and 
laughed aloud. The clock was striking ten. Eisler 


THE WAITING-ROOM. 


1G3 


looked up in astonishment. “ What is it that you 
find so amusing \ ” he asked. 

“ My thoughts ! ” answered his wife, gayly, as 
she directed the attention of her teacher to the 
clock. It was the hour named for the rendezvous 
at the station ; and she was thinking of Frantz pac- 
ing the long platform in vain expectation of her 
coming. 

From the moment that the messenger had taken 
to Frantz Sidonie's “ Yes,” his restless anxiety left 
him. The die was cast, and no retreat was now 
possible. He argued no more with himself ; his 
conscience seemed hardened and seared. lie calmly 
made all his arrangements — emptied his wardrobe, 
sent off his trunks, and then sat down in the vacant 
room, without one thought or pang for the young 
girl who would weep such bitter tears, without one 
thought of his brother’s horror and despair. All 
this was to come later, but was now of,, minor con- 
sideration. 

His mind was now concentrated on the anticipa- 
tion of meeting Sidonie at the station. She would 
come closely veiled and in black, quiet and unob- 
trusive. Fie thought of the train flying through 
the darkness; of a small, graceful hend and fair face 
lying among cushions, and two eyes that shone like 
stars ; and still the train sped on. Later still, and 
a vision of the blue sea, of an unknown tropical 
land where they themselves were unknown, came 
to intoxicate and bewilder him. Two hours before 
the time for his train, Frantz was at . the station 


164 


SID ON IE. 


— the dreariest of all in Paris, the Lyons. He 
seated himself in the darkest corner, and sat as if 
carved out of stone; hut his brain was as ac- 
tive as ever, although he asked himself several 
times where he was going, and for whom he was 
waiting. Mechanically he looked about, though far 
too early yet to expect Sidonie. In a half-hour, in 
fifteen minutes, he might begin to watch for her. 
Then began that horrible expectation that racks the 
nerves of the strongest. Poets have written of it, 
most of us have felt it. But to pass such moments 
in a dreary railway-station, with a noise of opening 
and shutting doors, a constant tramp of feet ! The 
sense of the hurry and confusion is inexpressibly 
depressing. Frantz stood watching the carriages as 
they stopped at the platform. The doors were 
opened and noisily closed, while the fates of the oc- 
cupants of the carriages were momentarily visible 
under the light of the lantern that hung from above. 

A lady closely veiled, a young girl with her fa- 
ther, an elderly woman with her maid, but no Si- 
donie. Then he went outside, not being able to en- 
dure the heated atmosphere within. It was a damp 
evening in September ; a light fog imparted to the 
carriage-lamps a far-away look ; but none of the 
carriages contained Sidonie. The hour for the de- 
parture of the train was close at hand. He ran to 
the ticket-office. “ Two tickets for Marseilles ! ” Ob- 
taining them, he returned to his post of observation. 
At last he saw her ; yes ! in black — it was her figure ; 
and with 'her was another woman, still smaller — 


THE WAITINO-ROOM. 


165 


Madame Dobson, of course. But a second look un- 
deceived him : it was a lady bearing a certain re- 
semblance to Sidonie ; a young man joined her ; it 
was evidently a marriage-trip ; the father and mother 
were there to see them on the train. They passed 
Frantz, and he saw them enter the car wherein were 
his seats. At this moment a heavy hand was laid 
on his shoulder : he turned, and saw M. Gardinois. 

“ I am right,” said the old man ; “ you are going 
to Marseilles by this train, are you not \ I shall start 
with you, hut am not going very far.” He then ex- 
plained to Frantz that he had missed the train he 
wished to take : “ For,” he added, “ I was detained 
by the great failure of to-day, by which I hope ‘ Fro- 
mont & Bisler’ won’t suffer. But young people 
are” never very careful. I must be off — they are 
going to shut the gate ! ” 

Frantz hardly heard these disconnected sentences. 
The ruin of his brother, the utter demolisliment of 
the whole world, would not have disturbed him at 
that precise moment. 

The ten-o’clock train puffed out of the sta- 
tion. He tried to think calmly — evidently she 
had missed the connection from Asnieres — would 
she come later? He would wait. The young 
man seated himself. The book- stall was being 
put in order for the next day. Frantz recognized 
some volumes that he had in his room at Isma'ilia, 
or had read on board ship. But the book-stall 
is shut and locked, and he is deprived of this re- 
source. Then the woman who sells her toys at the 


166 


SID ON IE. 


corner wraps herself in an old shawl and goes away. 
The day was over for all these people. The thought 
of the long hours of wakefulness to come reminded 
him of the well-known room whose shaded light 
fell on a table covered with minute birds ; but this 
vision comes and goes — and leaves no sign behind. 
Suddenly he found that he was dying of thirst. The 
cafe was open ; he went in ; but, just as he lifted 
his glass to his lips, the notion that Sidonie was 
waiting for him, alone in the darkness outside, took 
such violent possession of his mind, that he rushed 
out, leaving his money and the untouched glass on 
the table. 

She will not come. "What had happened ? Who 
had detained her? Was she ill, or was she over- 
whelmed by remorse ? But in that case she would 
have sent Dobson. Perhaps Bisler had found The 
letter, Sidonie was so careless. 

While buried in these reflections the night wore 
on ; the distant buildings whitened, and became dis- 
tinct. What should he do ? He would go at once to 
Asnieres, and find out the truth. The morning was 
chilly, and, as he hurried across the city, he saw a 
little crowd of working-people gathered about a 
placard on the wall. Ah ! had he but stopped to 
read it, he would have been saved many a pang of 
self-reproach. 

Two or three hours later, when he reached As- 
nieres, the sun had risen. The bridge and the wharf 
all had that fresh, clean look that gives one the 
indefinable impression of a new day. He saw his 


THE WAITING-ROOM. 


167 


brother’s house, with its open windows and flowers 
on the balcony. He wandered about some time, 
before he ventured to enter the grounds. 

Suddenly, some one spoke to him. It was Sido- 
nie’s coachman. “ Good-morning, Master Frantz. 
You are up bright and early this morning ! ” 

“ Any news at the house ? ” asked the young 
man, trembling. 

“ Ho, sir ; nothing.” 

“ Is my brother at home % ” 

“ Ho, sir; my master slept in town.” 

“ Is there anybody ill ? ” 

“ Hobody that I know of,” answered the coach- 
man, somewhat astonished. 

Then Frantz rang at the small door. He heard 
Sidonie’s voice, notwithstanding the early hour. 

She spoke eagerly. 

“ Ho — no cream — let the sherbet be well frozen, 
and be punctual — seven o’clock precisely.” She was 
evidently deep in consultation with her cook ; but 
the unexpected apparition of her brother-in-law did 
not disturb her in the least. 

“ Ah ! Frantz ! ” she said, tranquilly. “ I shall be 
at liberty in a few moments. W e have a large dinner- 
party to-morrow ; you have no objection, I trust ? ” 

Fresh and smiling, in her loose white dressing- 
gown and dainty lace cap, she continued to arrange 
her dinner. On her face was not the slightest trace 
of anxiety or of sleeplessness. Her smooth brow 
and half-parted rosy lips offered a strange contrast 
to her lover’s haggard face. 


168 


SID ON IE. 


At last they were alone, and he could speak. 

“ Yon did not receive my letter?” he asked. 

“ Certainly I did ; what then ? ” She had risen 
to arrange before the mirror some of her numerous 
frills and ribbons, and continued, as she turned tow- 
ard him : “ I received your letter, and was delighted 
to receive it. ISTow, if you feel any inclination to 
carry to your brother any of the reports with which 
you have frightened me, I will prove to him that 
you are impelled to do so by your mad jealousy — by 
a love that I rejected with horror and contempt. Be 
warned, my dear — and farewell ! ” ~ 

Happy as an actress who has made a great hit, 
Sidonie left the room, a half smile on Her lip& 

And he did not kill her 1 


CHAPTER Y. 


THE SEINE. 

The night of the unfortunate episode of the 
Lyons station, a few minutes after Frantz had qui- 
etly left his apartment, the illustrious Dellobelle went 
home, and threw himself into a chair, in that loose, 
disjointed fashion which he always adopted when 
things went wrong with him. 

“'Good Heavens ! ” cried his wife, whom twenty 
years of exaggeration had not yet hardened, “ what 
is the matter ? ” 

Before answering, the actor, who never failed to 
precede his smallest words with some play of his 
countenance, drew down his mouth as if he had 
swallowed some atrociously bitter morsel. 

“ It is certain,” he said, “ that these Rislers are 
selfish and ungrateful, to say nothing of their ill- 
manners. What do you think I have just heard ? 
That Frantz Risler has gone — left Paris without a 
word of farewell to me — without a word of thanks 
for all the hospitality that he has received under 
this humble roof ! What do you think of that ? ” 

Madame Dellobelle uttered an exclamation of 
regret and surprise, while poor Desiree neither 
8 


170 


SID ONI E. 


spoke nor moved. The wire she held did not trem- 
ble. 

“ Why have I deserved this last humiliation ? ” 
asked her father, for it was one of his pleasures to 
believe that he was hated and insulted by the world 
in general. 

Gently, and with almost maternal tenderness, 
Madame Dellobelle consoled her husband — petted 
him, and added some little dainty to their dinner. 
In fact, the poor fellow was this time sincere ; he 
was really hurt by young Bisler’s abrupt departure. 
But beside this surface sorrow burned and throbbed 
an anguish so deep — a palp so keen — that words fail 
to describe it ; and yet the mother did not dream 
of it. Look at your child, Madame Dellobelle ! Look 
at that transparent cheek — those brilliant, tearless 
eyes ! Draw your child’s head to your loving breast ! 
Let her weep in your arms, so that her eyes, veiled 
by tears, cannot distinguish the distant object on 
which she has fixed her despairing gaze ! 

There are some women in whom the mother ex- 
tinguishes the wife ; with others, the wife extin- 
guishes the mother. Madame Dellobelle belonged 
to this latter class. Worshiping her husband, she 
fancied that her daughter’s mission in life was to 
minister with equal unselfishness to his numerous 
whims. The two had but one aim in life — to toil 
for the glory of this great man, to console him for 
his wasted and unappreciated talents. Never had 
her mother seen the rosy flush that tinted Zizi’s 
cheek when Franks. * itered their work-room; all 


THE SEINE. 


171 


the sweet subterfuges of her daughter to insure the 
utterance of his name over their morning’s work 
had been unnoticed. Never had the mother watched 
in anxiety the long hours of silence, the tears that 
came unbidden to the eyes of the young girl ; and if 
sometimes Madame Dellobelle said, “ What are you 
thinking about ? ” it was in a mechanical sort of 
way, that hardly merited the often-unheard reply. 

Selfish natures like Dellobelle’s exercise an ex- 
traordinary influence over their family circles ; each 
member learns to suppress his own emotions, to en- 
dure silently rather than annoy the idol by his 
useless complaints ; and may I ask how, in this case, 
the sad drama that darkened the life of poor Zizi 
could interest that great man, her father? For 
more than a month (since the Sunday, in fact, that 
Sidonie had borne Frantz away in triumph) Desiree 
knew that she was no longer loved, and knew, too, 
who her rival was. She uttered no complaints of 
either, she only asked herself with weary question- 
ings the reason of his return, and why he had lin- 
gered at her side. Like a condemned criminal in a 
dark cell, she had become accustomed to the sad ob- 
scurity of her daily life. A sudden gleam of sun- 
shine showed her all that she had endured; and, 
when that sunshine faded away again, her days were 
intolerable. How many tears had dimmed the brill- 
iancy of her birds’ wings, and how many hours had 
they rendered less burdensome, for her daily toil 
was the girl’s salvation ! Had her mind and hands 
been unoccupied, the misery in her heart wqgild 


172 


SID 0 NIE. 


have driven her to desperation. But, while Frantz 
was in Paris, hope did not altogether desert her. 
She heard his step in the corridor, and sometimes, 
even, through her half-open door, caught a glimpse 
of him, as he hurried up or down the stairs. He did 
not look happy. Why should he ? she thought ; 
did he not worship a woman whom it was a sin for 
him even to think of? That he would return to 
her again as a lover she knew was impossible, but 
she thought it very probable that he would come to 
her some day, sore and crushed, and ask her to pour 
some oil into his wounds. 

But now she had been told that Frantz had gone ; 
gone without a look or a word. Fie had been guilty, 
first, of a lover’s treachery, and now of a friend’s ! 
Where could she turn for aid in this terrible hour % 
Her mother would not understand her, and would 
beg her not to disturb her father. 

Sidonie ! Alas ! she knew now that she had bet- 
ter hope for consolation from her little birds, whose 
expressionless eyes drove her mad with their glassy 
stare. Her work no longer interested her ; her 
hands were as weary as her heart ! Who but her 
Father above could aid her now ? Alas ! she did 
not even think of him. 

In Paris — in those narrow, dingy streets — the 
blue heavens seem so far away ; between the sad, 
uplifted eyes and the sky intervene fogs and clouds, 
and life is so hard for the greater part of these peo- 
ple, that, if the thought of a watchful Providence 
occurs to them, it is as an avenger and a tyrant. 


THE SEINE. 


173 


This is why there are so many suicides in Paris, 
These people, who know not how to pray, are never- 
theless ready to die. Death seems to them a deliv- 
erer and a consoler. 

It was thus that the little lame girl thought. 
She would die — but how? Motionless in her 
chair, while her mother prepared du net*, and her 
father recited a long monologue against; the ingrati- 
tude of human nature, Zizi decided on what she 
should do. 

Never alone, it was useless to resort to charcoal. 
Never going out, it was in vain for her to think of 
purchasing a little package of white powder, that she 
could carry about with her for days, in her pocket, 
with her handkerchief and thimble. There was, to 
be sure, the window opening on the street ; but the 
thought of giving her parents the shock of seeing 
her mangled remains — the remembrance of the in- 
quisitive crowd — all decided her to relinquish that 
plan. Nothing, then, was left but the river, whose 
waters might carry her so far off that she would 
never be seen again. 

She shivered as she thought of the river, but it 
was not with fear of the deep, black waters ; a Pa- 
risian grisette thinks little of that : she could throw 
her shawl over her head, and she would not see ip. 
But she would have to go through the streets alone, 
and at night, and that thought terrified her. 

While little Zizi sat in silence, with her soft eyes 
distended and fixed on vacancy, her father dined 
comfortably, and then sallied forth to the theatre, 


174 


SIB ON IE. 


first ascertaining that he had some money about him 
for emergencies. 

“ The dear man made a good dinner,” said his 
wife, u and I am glad of it, for he needed it.” 

“ Yes, that will be terrible to go alone into the 
street ; I must wait until the gas is all out in the 
corridors, and when my mother is asleep I will creep 
down the stairs, and out into the street, where I 
shall meet men that will stare at me, and perhaps 
speak to me ! ” 

This timidity Desiree had felt since childhood. 
For, when she was little, and was sent of an errand, 
the children in the street had mocked her, and fol- 
lowed her as she limped along. Now, she feared 
the omnibuses and carriages ; the river was so far 
off — how tired she would be ! But there was no 
other thing for her to do. 

“ I am going to bed, my child — how much lon- 
ger do you mean to sit up ? ” 

With her eyes on her work, Desiree answered 
that she must finish her twelfth bird. 

“ Good-night, then,” said her mother, whose fail- 
ing sight could not bear the bright light. “ I have 
put your father’s supper by the fire — look at it the 
last thing.” 

Desiree had told the truth. She meant to finish 
the dozen, so that her father could take the work 
home in the morning ; and no one would have sup- 
posed, who looked in on that peaceful scene, that 
within that little blond head so fatal an idea was 
developing itself. 


THE SEINE. 


175 


The bird was finished — a wonderful bird — whose 
wings were green, like the deep sea, and whose \ 
breast glowed like a living sapphire. She carefully 
placed it wfith the others in the paper box. Each] 
needleful of silk was gathered np — the pins and 
needles placed in the cushion. She turned the dish 
that held her father’s supper, and lowered the lamp, 
so that everything should wear its ordinary look. 
Finally, Desiree took a small shawl from the ward- 
robe, and went calmly forth, without one look at 
her sleeping mother; for at last, in this supreme 
moment, she fully understood to what a selfish 
love her childhood and her youth had been sac- 
rificed. She knew, only too well, that a word 
from her father would console her mother. When 
one voluntarily chooses death, it is with a cry 
against the injustice of man, and the pitilessness of 
Fate. 

At last, she is in the street. All is quiet in this 
secluded quarter ; but on the boulevards there are 
still noise and lights. Desiree walked quickly, with 
her shawl drawn about her slight figure. Without 
looking to the right or the left, she went straight 
on. The wind blew in her face, and the air felt 
damp as if it came from the river, which seemed 
itself to recede as little Zizi advanced. 

Did you ever see a wounded bird running along 
on the ground, dragging its broken wing, seeking 
only some shelter where it may die in peace? De- 
siree’s little figure and hesitating walk would have 
recalled involuntarily to your mind the image of 


176 


SID ON IE. 


this wounded bird. And to think that, on the same 
night, almost at the same hour, and among the same 
streets, another person wandered, equally unhappy, 
equally desperate ! If they could have met — if 
she, without looking up, had stopped him, and said, 
“ Tell me, if you please, sir, the way to the Seine ? ” 
and he would have exclaimed, “ Mademoiselle Zizi ! 
in the name of wonder, why are you out at this hour ? ” 
— she would have burst into tears, and he would 
have wrapped her about with his strong arms, and 
told her that he needed her for a comforter and a 
guide. But meetings like these, in spite of all that 
poets say, do not often happen in real life, and real 
life is a hard mistress ; and when sometimes such a 
very slight thing would turn bitterness into joy, she 
sternly refuses to grant that trifle. In this melan- 
choly truth is to be found the reason why romances 
of real life are always sad. 

Street after street, then a square, and, finally, a 
stone bridge and the river — an autumnal fog hung 
over it — and it was here that she meant to die. She 
felt so little, so desolate, in this great city, it seemed 
to Desiree that she was already dead. She went 
toward the bridge, when suddenly an odor of fresh 
flowers, of wet moss, and damp earth, came to her. 
She stood still. On the very edge of the sidewalk 
lay a bundle of shrubs, their roots tied up in moss ; 
and a number of flower-pots, each in its paper, 
showed that they were in readiness for the early 
market. The women sat by, enveloped in shawls, 
and half asleep. Chrysanthemums of all colors, 


THE SEINE. 


177 


mignonette, and roses, filled the air with their deli- 
cate perfume. 

Poor little Desiree ! The rare joys of her youth, 
the memory of her brief happiness with her lover, 
all rushed over her. She walked softly through 
these flowers. She remembered the day in the 
country with Frantz: that breath of Nature, that 
she enjoyed for the first time that day, came again 
to her as she was about to die. “ Do you remem- 
ber?” the flowers seemed to say, as they swayed 
gently toward her. “ Ah, yes, I remember ! ” she 
answered, with a vague smile on her girlish lips. 

She remembered only too well. At the end of 
the wharf the little figure stops at the steps which 
lead down to the boats. 

Presently loud cries were heard — steps ran up 
and down the wharf. “ Quick ! a boat ! ” A police- 
man and a sailor appear as by magic on the scene. 
A boat, carrying a lantern, is pushed off. 

The flower-merchants are roused. And when 
one of them asks, with a yawn, what the matter is, 
the woman at the coffee-stall answers calmly, “It 
is a woman who has just been fished out of the 
water.” 

It is true — the river refused even its protection 
to the poor child. Look where in the light of the 
lanterns a little group is gathered — she is saved ! 
By degrees the people disperse, the flower-merchants 
return to their seats and doze again, and on the de- 
serted wharf the chrysanthemums shiver in the cool 
night-wind. 


178 


SIL ONIE. 


Ah, poor girl ! You thought it an easy, simple 
thing to disappear out of life. You did not know 
that, instead of bearing you swiftly away, the river 
would reject you, and condemn you to all the shame 
and suspicion that must necessarily belong to your 
future life. First came the police-station, with its 
dirty benches, and its floor as wet and muddy as the 
streets themselves. There Desiree must spend the 
night. They had placed her on a camp-bed, before 
the fire, charitably replenished on her account, the 
excessive heat of which soon made her wet clothing 
steam. Where was she ? She hardly knew. Men 
were asleep all about, and the frightful oaths of two 
drunken prisoners in the next room horrified her. 
Hear her crouched a woman in rags — she was mad — 
a poor creature who harmed no one, but who nodded 
her head constantly, and kept saying: “Ah, yes, 
misery — you may well say so ! Ah, yes, misery — ” 
And this melancholy refrain, uttered in such a scene, 
made the poor child feel as if she should go mad 
herself. She closed her eyes, that she might not see 
this melancholy personification of her own despair. 

At last daylight pervaded the large room. Zizi 
awoke suddenly, threw ofi the covering, and rose, 
determined, notwithstanding her fatigue and a burn- 
ing fever, to escape from this place and from the 
eyes that watched her. 

“ Gentlemen,” she said, timidly, “ let me go 
home to my mother.” 

Hardened, as they were, by the constant occur- 
rence of such dramas, the good men understood 


THE SEINE. 


179 


that they now had to deal with a case totally out of 
the common way. But they could not take her 
home yet — they must first obtain permission. A 
carriage was ordered, out of pity for her; for a 
curious crowd had gathered at the door, to see the 
little lame girl appear. She was driven to the po- 
lice-court, and entered the dingy room shivering, 
but with cheeks red with shame and fever. The 
judge hardly looked up from his paper. 

“ Ah ! ” he said to Desiree, “ it is you, then ? ” 
The policeman began to read his report : “ At a 
quarter before twelve the aforesaid Dellobelle, aged 
twenty-four, a maker of artificial flowers, residing 
with her parents, at Ho. — Rue de Braque, at- 
tempted suicide by throwing herself into the Seine, 
from which river she was rescued by Gregoire 
Parchemint,” etc., etc. 

The judge divided his attention between this 
report and his finger-nails, which he was carefully 
trimming, gave an occasional shrug of his shoulders 
with the air of a man who says, “ What else could 
one expect ? ” At the end he turned sharply on the 
aforesaid Dellobelle, and admonished her in well- 
turned periods. “It was infamous,” he said, “it 
was cowardice, to do what she had done ! What 
had driven her to such madness ? ” 

Desiree could not answer. How could she have 
told, in such a presence, the sad story of her love 
and her sorrow \ She murmured, with purple lips, 
still shivering with cold, “I do not know.” 

Out of all patience with what he regarded as 


180 


SID ON IE. 


willful obstinacy, the judge finally gave her permis- 
sion to go home, first extorting from her the prom- 
ise that she would not repeat her attempt at suicide. 
She entered the carnage, but her martyrdom was 
not yet over. The policeman who was with her 
was too kind, and, when he took her hand, the 
frightened girl retreated to the corner of the vehi- 
cle in tears ; and, when she reached her home, she 
saw a crowd about the door. The startling intelli- 
gence had preceded her, and the neighborhood was 
in a wild state of excitement. At first they had 
heard only of her disappearance. Had she eloped 
with Frantz Easier? Dellobelle himself had run 
down the street at an early hour, without any hat ; 
and the concierge , going up at once to their room, 
found Madame Dellobelle half crazy. In vain had 
the poor mother looked for some trace of her 
daughter — something, however trifling, that would 
throw a light on her departure. 

She remembered, too late, her child’s silence and 
lassitude ; the depression of the last month, follow- 
ing so quickly on her previous gayety ; and she re- 
membered that for days she had not spoken of 
Frantz. 

l< Do not weep,” her husband said ; “ I will find 
her.” 

And the poor woman wandered through her 
rooms, and out into the corridor, to look from the 
window; she preferred to stand there and watch, 
for Desiree’s vacant chair seemed to breathe silent 
reproaches. 


THE SEINE : 


181 


Suddenly a carriage stopped, and voices from 
below called to her: “ Your daughter is here, Ma- 
dame Dellobelle, safe and sound ! ” 

It was indeed Zizi whom she met ascending 
the stairs, pale and half fainting, assisted by an un- 
known man. Seeing her mother, the girl smiled 
vacantly. 

“ Do not be frightened,” she said, “ it is nothing.” 
Her mother ran toward her, lifted her child in her 
arms, as if she had been a baby, covered her with 
kisses, and overwhelmed her with loving reproaches. 

“ My darling ! ” cried the mother, “ tell me that 
it is not true that you tried to kill yourself. What is 
your secret sorrow ? Trust your mother, my child ! ” 

And, looking at her, D4siree saw that Madame 
Dellobelle had aged by ten years. The anxiety and 
sorrow of the last few hours had told sadly on her 
feeble frame. And Zizi thought herself unloved ! — 
and that she could slip out of the world unnoticed 
and unmissed ! 

“ When I saw your bed undisturbed this morn- 
ing,” said her mother between her hysterical sobs, 
“ and then found you were not in the work-room, I 
fainted away. Are you warm now ? Do you feel 
better?” And she took the slender, ice-cold feet 
into her bosom to warm them. 

Desiree, in the long days of delirium that fol- 
lowed, lived over and over again each event of that 
horrible night : if she fell asleep, she woke with a 
start, and cried aloud to her mother, “ Hide me ! 
mamma, hide me — I am ashamed I ” 


182 


SIDONIE. 


The judge, had he been there, would have been 
quite certain that Zizi would never make a second 
attempt at suicide. But a longing for death, rest, 
and peace, was to be read on her pale face, and 
“ the aforesaid Dellobelle” knew that she would not 
have long to wait. 

The physicians called the disease of which she 
would die pneumonia; but the girl knew better: 
yet it was not a broken heart that killed her. JSTo ; 
since that night the girl had thought no more of 
Frantz, and considered herself alike unworthy of 
loving or of being loved; for her pure life was 
stained and soiled. 

Each feature of that frightful tragedy stood out 
clear in her memory. Her being dragged from the 
water amid that crowd of rough men ; her sleep of 
exhaustion at the police-station ; the vulgar songs she 
had heard ; the melancholy words of that mad woman 
sitting in the red light of the sto^e ; the worthless 
creatures with whom she had mingled ; the sneers of 
some, the impertinences of others, and the familiar- 
ities of the policeman who had brought her home — 
all had forever destroyed her maidenly reserve and 
womanly purity. Even her lameness was another 
feature in her martyrdom, and she fancied the judge 
in the court-room saying to himself as he looked at 
her, “ The idea of a girl like that having the pre- 
sumption to love any man, and to kill herself because 
he would not love her in return ! ” 

She was simply dying of shame. In the long 
nights of feverish delirium, she repeated, without 


THE SEINE : 


183 


a moment’s cessation — “ I am so ashamed ! — so 
ashamed ! ” And, when she was somewhat calmer, 
she would cower under the coverings, as if to hide 
or bury herself from all human eyes. 

Near Desiree’s bed, or at the window, sat Ma- 
dame Dellobelle, busily at work, for it is one of the 
miseries of the poor that they have not time to 
grieve. They must toil on, even in the shadow of 
the death that is hourly drawing nearer to those they 
love. The rich can encompass themselves about 
with their sorrows; but the poor cannot. I once 
knew an old woman who in the same year lost her 
daughter and her husband — two terrible blows, the 
one after the other ; but she had a large family to 
care for, and a farm to manage. From sunrise to sun- 
set she was busy, overseeing and directing. “ But, 
Sundays,” said the widow to me — “ Sundays, I am 
happy.” And what was this woman’s idea of hap- 
piness ? It was that in the loneliness of her room she 
could pass the day on her knees, praying and weep- 
ing for her lost husband and child. 

But Madame Dellobelle had not even her Sun- 
day. Remember that she was the only one to earn 
bread for her family, and her fingers were not so 
dexterous as her daughter’s. Medicines were expen- 
sive, and she could not deprive her husband of one 
of his comforts. Thus, at whatever hour the girl 
opened her eyes, she beheld her mother at work ; and 
when the curtains rf her bed were drawn, she heard 
the little metallic click of the scissors as they were 
laid on the table. 


184 


SID ON IE. 


Seeing her mother’s fatigue was one of Desiree’s 
greatest sorrows. “ Give me some work,” she would 
say, trying to raise herself in her bed. Her mother, 
seeing in this wish an indication of returning inter- 
est, gladly drew the pillows up to sustain the fragile 
form ; but the needle was too heavy, the eyes too 
weak, and the street-cries brought back to the girl 
the memory of the narrow lanes through which she 
had wandered “ that night.” 

Ho, she bad no wish to live. 

The mother looked at her pale child. “ Are you 
comfortable ? ” she asked. 

“ Perfectly so,” said the girl, and a faint smile 
flickered over her sad face, showing all the ravages 
made by her illness and grief, as the ray of sunlight, 
creeping into the dwellings of the poor, instead of 
brightening them, only brings out their desolation 
and discomforts. The mother dared not speak lest 
she should weep aloud ; and the daughter, stupefied 
by fever, was already wrapped in the shadow of ap- 
proaching death. 

The illustrious Dellobelle was rarely there. He 
had not changed his daily habits in the smallest 
degree, nevertheless, he knew that his daughter 
was dying ; the physician had told him so. Had he 
loved his child — but in this singular nature the 
truest and most natural emotions acquired a certain 
meretricious air; in the same way that, if a placard 
is fastened crookedly on a wall, every word on it 
looks crooked too. 

Dellobelle aired his grief, and played with sue- 


THE SEINE. 


185 


cess the part of a broken-hearted father. He was 
seen at the theatre, and at the cafe, with tumbled 
hair, red eyes, and a pale face ; and liked to be met 
by sympathizing questions, to which he replied by 
compressed lips, by closed eyes, and by a melancholy 
shake of the head. 

But he was full of thoughtful attentions for his 
child during her illness. He brought her flowers, 
but was not content with the simple violets that are 
to be found at every street-corner. In these gloomy 
autumnal days nothing would content him but roses 
and pinks, or white lilacs, bleached under glass, 
leaves and flowers alike white and ghostly. 

“ It is too much ! too much ! ” said the sick girl 
each day as he appeared, bouquet in hand ; but he 
replied in so lofty a tone that she soon ceased to 
remonstrate. Nevertheless, it was a great expense, 
the burden of which fell on Madame Dellobelle. 
But, far from complaining, the poor woman tnouglit 
this extravagance very noble on the part of her 
husband. This contempt for money tilled her with 
admiration, and she was more impressed than ever 
with a belief in his talents. 

He also, even amid all the mournful lessons of 
his wasted life, never doubted his own genius ; but 
a little hot hand was to lift the veil from his eyes. 

One night, Desiree awoke in a singular state ; 
but the physician had found her, some hours before, 
very much better — with her fever all gone. He did 
not attempt to account for the change, nor did he 
say that the improvement was more than temporary. 


186 


SID ONI E. 


“ Let us wait,” lie said, gravely, hoping that it might 
be one of those singular efforts made by Nature and 
youth. Had he looked under Desiree’s pillow, he 
would have found a letter post-marked “ Cairo ” — 
four pages, signed by Frantz — four pages of con- 
fession and explanation. 

It was a letter such as the sick girl had dreamed 
of in past days. Had she herself dictated its words, 
she could not have found any so tender and loving. 
Everything that could soothe her wounds, and spare 
her delicacy, was there. He implored her pardon, 
narrated to his faithful little friend the temptations 
to which he had been exposed, and all his struggles. 
He bade Desiree to distrust Sidonie ; and, with a 
clearness of perception born of his former passion, 
lie described her heartlessness, her untruthfulness, 
and her total lack of principle. 

Had that letter reached Zizi but a few days 
earlier ! Now all its tenderness was like food brought 
too late to a man dying of hunger: he sees it., 
smells it, but cannot swallow it. Over and over 
again the sick girl read this letter. She drew it 
from the envelope, kissed it lovingly, and, even 
through her closed lids, saw its every word, and the 
color of the stamp. Frantz had not forgotten her ! 
and she fell asleep, as if her head had been on his 
shoulder. Suddenly she awoke, and, as we said 
before, in a most extraordinary state ; she felt all 
nerves, and yet as if she held on to life with but the 
slenderest thread. It was night, and the room in 
which she lay was in shadow. The lamp, half turned 


THE SEINE. 


187 


down, lighted only the scattered work-table, and 
poor Madame Dellobelle’s sleeping face. 

Desiree’s whole past came back to her : forgotten 
incidents of her childhood ; scenes that, at the time, 
she had not understood ; words heard as in a dream 
— all returned. 

The child was bewildered, but not terrified. She 
did not know that, very often, death is heralded by 
just such excessive excitement of sleeping facul- 
ties. 

She saw her father through the open door. Her 
mother lay back in her chair, utterly worn out, and 
all the traces of years of misery and of toil were 
visible on her worn face. During the day they 
were, in a measure, masked by the will and by con- 
stant occupation ; but sleep brought them out. The 
deep wrinkles and reddened eyelids, the scanty hair 
— already white on the temples — were all to be seen, 
and Desiree saw them all. How she longed for 
strength and power to kiss away all those wrinkles ! 
Dellobelle offered the strongest possible contrast. 
With a napkin thrown over his knee, he sat eating 
his supper, and at the same time reading his news- 
paper. For the first time in her life, Desiree noticed 
this contrast between her father and mother: her 
mother in her scanty black dress, thin and haggard ; 
her father, wearing a new coat, hale and hearty: 
and she understood the difference in their lives and 
natures. The atmosphere of habit, which weakens 
the vision of children, had vanished for her; she 
judged her parents as if she were not their daughter. 


188 


SIDONIE. 


What would become of her mother when she was 
gone? Would she patiently toil on, until worn out, 
and then would her selfish companion, too indolent 
to work himself, permit her to starve ? And yet he 
was not cruel ; he was only absorbed in himself and 
in his futile ambition. Should she try to arouse 
him ? Should she try and tear away the thick band- 
age with which her father had for so many years 
covered his eyes ? It was only a loving hand like 
her own that could attempt such a delicate opera- 
tion. She alone had the right to say to him : 

“Give up these foolish dreams of a theatrical 
career. Work, through the day, and, if it must be, 
part of the night too, at some honest trade.” 

Then, as if she were bidden to hasten by some 
invisible lips, she summoned all her courage, and 
called him softly : 

“ Papa, papa ! ” 

At the sound of her voice, the old actor hurried 
to her side. He had been at the first representation 
of a new play, and had come away enchanted and 
excited. He entered his daughter’s room with a 
beaming face, and a camellia in his button-hole. 

“ Hot asleep yet, Zizi ? ” 

And his words were said so lightly that they 
resounded strangely in that sad and silent room. 
Desir6e made a sign to him to be quiet, and pointed 
to her sleeping mother. 

“ Come here, I want to speak to you,” she whis- 
pered. Her voice trembled, and her widely-opened 
eyes had a strange, far-away look. 


THE SEINE. 


189 


Somewhat startled, he bent over her, with his 
camellia in his hand. 

“ What is it, my dear ? Do yon feel worse ? ” 

Desiree shook her head, but beckoned him to come 
nearer; she laid her hot hand on his, and whispered 
that she was ill, and had not long to live. “ Then, 
papa, you will be alone with mamma. Do not trem- 
ble — I am not afraid for myself, but I dread lest 
mamma should not be strong enough to do every- 
thing. Look, how pale she is ! ” 

The actor turned, and seemed astonished at the 
sad face he saw. 

“She has never been very strong,” he said, 
calmly. 

This selfish reply, and, above all, the tone in 
which it was made, confirmed Ddsiree in her in- 
tention. 

“ What will become of you both when I am not 
here? Yes, I know, you have great hopes and ex- 
pectations, but they will never be realized. Dear 
father, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but it 
seems to me that, at your age, with your intelligence, 
you ought to be doing something. Mr. Kisler, I am 
sure, would — ” She spoke slowly, choosing her 
words with care, and waiting a moment after each 
sentence ; but the actor did not yet grasp her mean- 
ing. He listened intently, with a vague consciousness 
that he was being accused of something; but of 
what, he had no idea. 

“ I think,” continued Desir6e, timidly, “ that it 
would be far wiser to relinquish — ” 


190 


SID ONI E. 


“ What ? ” 

She stopped, astonished at the effect of her 
words ; for tears, real tears, rose to her father’s 
eyes. lie understood her now. Of the only two 
admirers left to him by a cruel fate, one had now 
deserted him! His child no longer believed in 
him ! It was not possible ! Before the mute en- 
treaty of his gaze, Desfree’s courage fled ; besides, 
her strength was exhausted. 

She murmured, “ Give up — give up — ” Her head 
fell back on her pillows, and she died, without hav- 
ing dared to say what she wished him to give up. 

The “ aforesaid Dellobelle ” is dead, Sir Judge ! 
She told you that she would never again make an 
attempt at suicide, and she did not break her word. 
This time Death came to her, and took her away. 
And now, incredulous judge, you may accept the 
evidence of four stout oak-planks instead of her 
childish assurances. 

Desiree’s death made a sensation in the neigh- 
borhood. Hot that she was so great a favorite, for 
she w r ent out rarely, and was comparatively little 
known. But, of course, at her burial, there would 
be a great many actors, and Paris adores that class. 
It likes to see them in the street, off the stage ; 
it likes to see w T hat is real, and what is artificial, 
about them ; so that, when that narrow door on La 
Hue de Braque was seen hung with a white scarf, 
the curious had much to say. 

To do them justice, actors, if not always harmo* 


THE SEINE. 


191 


nious, have a certain external sympathy which they 
gladly demonstrate on all public occasions — balls, 
concerts, and funerals. 

Although Dellobelle’s name had entirely disap- 
peared from the play-bills, and was thoroughly un- 
known to the rising generation of theatre-goers, it 
only needed a couple of lines in an obscure paper— 
“ M. Dellobelle, formerly attached to the principal 
theatres of Alen§on and Metz, informs his friends 
and associates,” etc. — to bring out the actors ef 
Paris in full force. 

Famous or not famous, unknown or celebrated, 
they were all there : those who had played with 
Dellobelle in the provinces; those who had met him 
in the cafes, where he was always to he seen, among 
the hundred others, to whom it would be difficult 
to give a name, but whom one recalls, because one 
sees them constantly, and they form a portion of the 
scene. 

All these people expected to see their names in 
the list of those present at the funeral. They live 
in such constant fear of being forgotten by a fickle 
public, that they grasp every opportunity of thrust- 
ing themselves into notice. 

The day arrived. All the windows in the neigh- 
borhood were filled with faces. A crowd was gath- 
ered in the Hue de Braque, waiting for the coming 
of the funeral guests. Here they are, some on foot, 
others in carriages, easily to be recognized by their 
well-shaven faces and exaggerated gestures. The 
different manner in which these good people manh 


192 


SIDONIE. 


fested their emotion on this painful occasion was 
very remarkable. Each entered the hall as if going 
on the stage ; one dashed a tear from the corner of 
his eyes with his gloved finger ; another stood still 
for a moment, the left foot thrown slightly forward 
and the hand pressed on his breast. “ Be quiet, 
heart ! ” this one seemed to say. This was acting, 
and yet was sincere. 

As soon as they were in the rooms, the actors 
separated into two distinct classes ; those who were 
of a certain celebrity gathered together and looked 
with contempt at the unknown comedians, who in 
their turn whispered quite audibly : (t Do you see 
how So-and-so has changed % How old he has 
grown ! ” 

Dellobelle vibrated between these two groups ; 
the poor fellow was half broken-hearted, but his 
grief did not prevent him from carefully curling 
his hair, or being anxious in regard to the fit of his 
gloves. Had any one been able to look into his 
very soul, it would have been impossible to say 
where his real sorrow ended and where his pretense 
began, so closely were they interwoven. 

M. Chebe darted about, more important than 
ever, while his wife remained above with the poor 
mother. * 

Sidonie did not appear, but her husband was 
there — the good friend who had defrayed all the ex- 
penses of this last ceremony, and who seemed as 
overwhelmed by grief as the father himself. The 
carriages were superb, and the hearse was a bank 


THE SEINE. 


193 


of roses and white violets. The funeral procession 
started : at its head walked Dellobelle, shaken by 
sobs ; thinking more of his own sorrows, of the fa- 
ther burying his only child, than of the child her- 
self, Far below his sincere grief lay his intolerable 
personal vanity, as at the bottom of a river lies a 
huge rock, motionless in spite of storms and waves. 
The pomp of the ceremony, the long procession, the 
closed carriages, and Sidonie’s coupe, all flattered 
and excited him, in spite of the gnawing pain at his 
heart. Dear little Zizi, so good and so simple ! — all 
this was for her. 

Happily, above, at the window of the old work- 
room, stood Madame Dellobelle, wdio could not be 
prevented from watching the procession depart. 
Behind the closed blinds she waved her thin hand. 
“ Farewell,” murmured the mother, almost to her- 
self — “ farewell, my darling ! ” and, softly as the 
words were spoken, Desiree heard them. 


BOOK I To 


CHAPTER I. 

PERPLEXITIES. 

One night, toward the end of the following 
January, Sigismond Planus sat in his little home at 
Montrouge. “ It is of no use,” he said to himself, 
“ for me to go to bed, for I cannot sleep.” And in 
truth the old cashier had an excellent reason for 
anxiety — two large payments to he made, and no 
funds on hand. What was to he done ? Sigismond 
had tried several times to speak of the matter to 
young Fremont; but George avoided all responsi- 
bility, and only appeared in his office at intervals, 
and then was always in a hurry. To the anxious 
questions of the cashier, he would only answer, pull- 
ing his mustache, “ Don’t trouble yourself, Planus, 
it will be right ” — and had the air at the same time 
of not knowing what he said, of thinking of some- 
thing else. The report gained ground in the factory 
that Sidonie was as faithless to him as she had been 
to her husband, and that this made him very un- 
happy. In fact, he was more occupied by Sidonie’s 


PERPLEXITIES. 


195 


follies than by his business difficulties. As to Eas- 
ier, he was rarely seen ; he passed his life watching 
the manufacture of his new machines. This in- 
difference of the firm to their own interests disor- 
ganized the whole manufactory. Workmen and 
clerks took their ease, came late in the morning, and 
left early, paying little attention to the bell. Much 
business was still transacted, it is true, because a 
large house like that can go alone for some time 
after it has had a good start ; but what disorder and 
rottenness under the apparent prosperity ! 

Sigismond knew all this. But what could he 
do ? Where could he get the money ? He must 
collect all outstanding ddbts — humiliating as it 
would be to do so, and dangerous in one way, as 
such a step would show that their house stood in 
dire need of every penny. But this was better than 
to have their notes protested. 

“ I will start to-morrow early,” sighed the cash- 
ier. While the poor man tosses and turns on his 
sleepless couch, we will take a look at an attic in the 
Boulevard Beaumarchais, where for some little time 
the Dellobelles have been living. 

Alas! Desiree had not been mistaken in her 
predictions. Her mother had not been able to con- 
tinue her employment. Pier eyes were weakened 
by tears, and her birds all had a doleful air, as if 
they had been rained on. She gave them up, and 
took to sewing ; she repaired laqes, and “ did up 
muslins.” But her earnings grew smaller and 
smaller, and Dellobelle finally got into a habit of 


196 


SID ON IE. 


running up little bills. He owed his tailor, too, and 
his bootmaker ; but he was more anxious in regard 
to his still unpaid account at the restaurant, which 
he had assured his creditor should be paid on the 1st 
of February. If he did not keep his word, every- 
thing would be seized and sold. 

The furniture was poor enough, to be sure, but 
it had been theirs ever since their marriage. For 
twenty years he had eaten his supper on the end of 
that long table ; and to see Zizi’s arm-chair carried 
off would break his wife’s heart — that chair, about 
which seemed to linger still something of their child, 
and at which neither father nor mother could look 
without tears. The poor actor did not know where 
to turn for aid ; and before his eyes he saw Desiree’s 
face of tender entreaty. She had never told him 
what it was that she wished him to renounce, but 
he had guessed all the same, and the thought that 
he had not fulfilled his daughter’s dying wishes did 
not lighten his heart. 

George Fromont this same night sat in his cheer- 
ful library, but he was far from cheerful himself. 
His head was buried in his arms, and he thought 
of Sidonie, who was at that moment sleeping quiet- 
ly on the floor above. For a long tiuiG he had im- 
plored her not to receive the tenor, Casaboni ; but 
Sidonie would not yield, and that very day had told 
him that she should certainly invite the man to a ball 
that she was about to give. 

“Is he your admirer?” cried George, looking 
her in the eyes. 


PERPLEXITIES. 


197 


She did not deny it, nor did she say yes ; she did 
not even turn away. She merely, in her cool, pas- 
sionless tone, informed him that no human being 
had the right to control or influence her acts; that 
she was free ; that she meant to remain so, and 
would submit to no interference from either Easier 
or himself. They had spent an hour in this way. 

And it was for this woman that he had sacrificed 
everything ; it was for her that he had thrown aside, 
the love of his wife ! He was filled with shame and 
humiliation. lie rose from his chair and walked 
restlessly about the room. His eyes happened to fall 
on an almanac, and he saw the day of the month. 
Good Heavens ! Was there not a large sum of 
money to be paid in a few days, and he had allowed 
all recollections of business-matters to be swallowed 
up in his own ignoble personal affairs ! But now he 
saw all the impending disaster ; he had not a penny. 
For six months he had lost at cards regularly ; enor- 
mous sums had gone in this way ; he literally had 
nothing left, except the factory ; and at this thought 
the unhappy man uttered a deep groan. 

“ George, I am here — what is the matter % ” and 
his wife stood before him. It had been her habit 
for some time to wait for him to return from the 
club, where she supposed his evenings were passed ; 
but this night she had gone to her child. She heard 
her husband come in, and heard him walking to and 
fro in the room, and his groan summoned her to 
his side. What remorse tore his heart as he saw her, 


198 


SID0N1E. 


felt her tender arms as she drew his head to her 
breast ! Fortunately, he could not speak, or he would 
have told her all. 

u You have been playing cards, have you not? 
and you have had heavy losses ? ” 

He made a sign in the affirmative, and, when he 
had regained his self-control, told her that he had 
a large sum of money to pay in a few days, and did 
not know where to procure the first penny. 

She uttered not one word of reproach. She was 
one of those few women who can face a misfortune 
without a word of recrimination. Possibly, at the 
bottom of her heart she was grateful for the disaster 
that brought him nearer to her. She reflected a 
moment, then with a great effort she said : “ Nothing 
is yet lost ; I will go to Savigny and ask my grand- 
father for the requisite amount.” He himself would 
never have dared to make such a suggestion ; the 
thought even would never have occurred to him. 
She was so proud, and her grandfather so hard ! It 
was an enormous sacrifice that she made, and a 
strong proof of her love that she offered. He felt 
strengthened and encouraged by her words and by 
her tenderness. 

“ Claire ! ” he cried, “ how good you are ! ” 


CHAPTEE II. 


REVELATIONS. 

li Ah ! here is Sigismond. How do you do, and 
how is business in these days ? ” 

The old cashier smiled, and shook hands with 
the master of the shop, with his wife, and his 
brother, and looked about with some curiosity. It 
was a shop for the sale of wall-papers in the Fau- 
bourg St.- Antoine. They were old customers of the 
Fromont manufactory. They had begun in a small 
way, and been accommodated with long credits by 
the Fromonts, and were now indebted to them to a 
very large amount; the Fromonts neglecting to 
call in their money, as they knew it to be per- 
fectly safe. 

Sigismond looked about with keen, inquisitive 
eye. The increasing business and prosperity of the 
establishment were plainly to be seen. At the cash- 
ier’s desk, behind the grating, sat the wife of one of 
the sons, with an air of authority on her fair young 
face. The old man ground his teeth with rage as 
he thought of the difference at the Maison Fromont ; 
but the thing that annoyed him the most was, in 


200 


SID ONI K 


what way he could ask for the debt they owed with- 
out betraying the pressing needs of his masters. 
With an air of indifference he began: a Business 
was good,” he said, “but he liked to steal away 
sometimes and see old friends.” Then, catching a 
glimpse of concealed amusement in the faces of his 
hearers, he became confused, and took up his hat to 
go away. On the threshold he stopped. “ Since I 
am here,” he said, “ you might as well settle our old 
account.” The two brothers and the woman at the 
desk exchanged a look. 

“ What account ? ” And they laughed at Sigis- 
mond’s joke, as they considered it. He laughed, too 
— but what a laugh was his ! 

Then they explained to him that young Fromont 
had given them a receipt in full, and taken all the 
money they owed the firm, six months before. Sigis- 
mond had hardly the strength to stammer : “ To be 
sure — I had forgotten, good friends. Sigismond 
Planus is certainly growing old.” And with these 
words the old man departed. The young people 
looked at each other, and shook their heads sadly, 
for they understood the affair perfectly. 

-Sigismond walked down the street as if he were 
moving in a dream. This, then, was the reason why 
George never came to him now for money ! Evi- 
dently, wherever he might go now, he would find 
that George had preceded him. He would try, how- 
ever. He went to another of their customers ; he 
half opened the door. “ A thousand pardons,” he 
cried, “ but will you oblige me with the date of your 


REVELATIONS. 


201 


last payment to our house ? I forgot to inscribe it 
on my books.” 

They told him that, five months previous, they 
had paid everything. He closed the door, and pur- 
sued his weary pilgrimage. At that moment, Ma- 
dame Fromont’s carriage swiftly passed him ; but 
Claire, busy with her own miserable thoughts, had 
no eyes for him. 

The task she had taken on herself was by no 
means an easy one — to ask for a large sum of money 
from a man who boasted loudly that never in his 
life had he either borrowed or lent a single penny, 
and who declared that while he lived no member of 
his family should receive anything from him! True 
to his nature, he had given his daughter no dowry 
on her marriage, and had always been more or less 
annoyed that her husband had succeeded in acquir- 
ing wealth without once coming to him for assist- 
ance. 

When his son-in-law entered his presence, happy 
and successful, the old man would say, with a ma- 
licious smile, “ Wait awhile, the end is not yet ! ” 
and sometimes, at Savigny, would look at the house, 
the stables, and conservatories, and say, u I am con- 
soled, when I think of dying, by the remembrance 
that no member of my family is rich enough to keep 
up this establishment when I am gone ! ” 

Nevertheless, with a certain tenderness that is 
not uncommon in a grandfather who is hard to every 
one else, old Gardinois would have petted Claire ; 
but she, even when little, was afraid of him. His 


202 


SIDONIE. 


roughness repulsed and his selfishness disgusted her, 
so that, on her marriage, the old man said to Ma- 
dame Fromont : 

“ If your daughter wishes, she may have from 
me a princely gift, but she must ask me for it.” 

But Claire received nothing, for she never would 
ask for anything from him. Therefore, the morti- 
fication she endured, three years later, when she 
found herself on her way to implore a favor from 
him, is more easily imagined than described. Poor 
Claire ! her grandfather would certainly try her 
temper and her patience by attacks on her husband ; 
reproaches and sneers would he lavished upon him. 
This thought, however, and the : one that quickly 
followed, that she could at least defend the being 
she loved best in the world, gave her a certain 
amount of courage. 

It was noon when the train reached Savigny ; 
and, as she had sent no notice of her coming, the 
carriage was not waiting at the station. She was 
therefore obliged to walk to the house. 

The cold was excessive — the ground frozen and 
uneven. The chill north wind blew sharply from 
the river, through the bare and leafless woods ; the 
lake was black, reflecting the leaden skies above ; 
while the house seemed to frown her away ; and, in 
the rough creaking of the weathercock on the sta- 
bles, she fancied she detected the inhospitable re- 
frain — “ Don’t come here ! don’t come here ! ” 

Had poor Claire but listened to this advice, she 
might have preserved her peace of mind ; but she 


REVELATIONS. 


203 


did not, and was shown into the presence of her 
grandfather, who was in a smaH room that he called 
his office. Seeing his granddaughter pale and shiv- 
ering, in spite of all her velvets and furs, the old 
man at once understood that some matter of grave 
importance required his attention. “What is the 
matter ? ” he said, pleasantly enough. 

Claire went toward the fire, and, seating herself 
without even lifting her veil, proceeded at once to 
lay before her grandfather the occasion of her unex- 
pected visit. She dared not even attempt the ordi- 
nary exchange of courtesies, lest she should lose all 
courage. 

He did not interrupt her while she spoke, in a 
calm, cold voice ; hut in his eyes could have been 
read, by an acute observer, a gleam of malicious* joy. 
He thought to himself, “ So, these proud Fromonts 
are humbled at last, and have felt the need of old 
Gardinois ! ” When she had finished, he began, of 
course, with the words, “ I told you so ! I knew 
things must come to this termination ; ” and then, 
in a hard, severe tone, continued to express his sur- 
prise that, when his sentiments were so well known 
in his family, she should have ventured to apply to 
him ; and finished by flatly refusing to lend her one 
cent. 

Then Claire spoke of her child, who would have 
to bear the dishonor of her father’s failure ; but the 
old man remained unmoved, and even sought to 
humiliate her still further, for his was that hard, 
peasant nature that likes to leave the marks of the 


204 


SID OKIE. 


nails in his wooden shoes on the face of his fallen 
enemy. 

“ All I can say, my dear, is, that you can have a 
home at Savigny. Your husband may come, too, 
for I need a secretary, and will pay him a small 
salary— tell him so.” 

She rose in indignation. She came as his grand- 
child, and he received her as if she had been a beg- 
gar. God be praised! she had not reached that 
point ! And Claire turned toward the door. 

• “ Take care ! ” said the old man ; “ it is for 
your sake that I have offered to receive your hus- 
band here. You have no idea of the life he leads 
in Paris, or you certainly would not ask me to assist 
him with my money. But I am pretty well ac- 
quainted with the doings of that scamp your hus- 
band. I know where he passes his nights and his 
days.” 

Claire’s eyes grew larger with terror, for her 
heart told her that she was about to hear some ter- 
rible intelligence. 

The old man continued: “Sidonie has good, 
strong teeth ! ” 

“ Sidonie ? ” cried Claire. 

“ Precisely : and Sidonie has crunched up every 
bit of your husband’s property, with the full con- 
sent of her own good-man, be it understood ! ” 

And coldly and without remorse her grandfather 
related to Claire whence came the money for the 
purchase of the country-house at Asnieres, for the 
horses and carriages, and for the jewels worn by 


REVELATIONS. 


205 


Sidonie — not a detail did he soften — and it was ex- 
traordinary how he could have learned so much. 

Claire listened with a Smile of incredulity, and 
this smile exasperated the old man. “ Ah ! you do 
not believe me — you want proofs ! Yery well, then, 
go to Darclie’s, the jeweler in La Hue de la Paix. 
A fortnight ago George bought there a necklace for 
which he paid five thousand dollars — five thousand 
dollars on the eve of failure 1 ” 

He might have gone on talking for the whole 
day without any interruption from Claire. She 
dared not speak, lest her trembling voice should be- 
tray her emotion, and the brave woman wished to 
smile on to the end. At last he stopped. She bowed 
and turned to the door again. 

“ Are you going ? Why are you in such a hur- 
ry?” asked her grandfather, following her out. 
“ Wait for the carriage to take you to the station.” 

Claire shook her head and walked on, with her 
grandfather following her. 

Erect, and apparently composed, she crossed the 
lawn so well known to her from her childhood. 
Her favorite seat under the tree still stood there, 
but she had not a thought nor a look for them, nor 
even for the old dog who ran to greet her. She had 
entered the house as if she had some claim to kind- 
ness and protection. She left it like a stranger, 
wrapped in her own cares and sorrows. 

“ Good-by, grandfather.” 

“ Good-by ! ” and the gate was closed violently 
behind her. She stood for a moment and turned to 


206 


SID ON IE. 


look back at a spot once so dear to her ; as she did 
so she caught sight of the little post-box on the 
wall, and was instantly overwhelmed by one of those 
sudden gleams of memory which sometimes bring 
to us each act of our lives bearing on our present 
joys and sorrows. It was here, three short years be- 
fore, that she had placed in that box the fatal, letter 
summoning Sidonie to visit her for a month. Why 
had not something warned her? “Had I but 
known,” she said — “ had I but known ! ” And she 
seemed still to hold in her hand that satin envelope. 
Then, as she thought of her child, she felt a mo- 
mentary indignation against the injustice of life. 
But suddenly she said, “ Ho, it is not time ! ” and 
as she hurried toward the station the unhappy wom- 
an continued to do battle with her own doubts and 
fears. She at last understood the constant absence 
of her husband, his preoccupied air and evident 
anxieties. As Claire reached the deserted station 
she felt a .touch on her hand ; it was the old dog, who 
had followed. At the sight of this one faithful 
friend — at his humble and loving caresses, her tears 
oroke their boundaries ; she knelt down on the fro- 
zen ground, and, laying her head on his rough coat, 
wept convulsively. Suddenly ashamed of herself, 
she rose and sent him home again, with an air so 
imperative that the poor creature obeyed without 
delay. 

Claire’s first thought, on leaving the train in 
Paris, was to go to the jeweler’s who her grand- 
father said had sold Greorge the necklace. If that 


REVELATIONS. 


207 


story were true, the others would be also. But her 
fear lest these details should be confirmed was so 
great, that she hardly dared enter the establish- 
ment. At first she looked at some jewels in their 
velvet cases, and one would have supposed her, in 
her elegant dress, as she bent over the ornaments, a 
happy woman, whose only anxiety was to make a 
becoming selection, instead of a miserable wife, 
about to learn a truth that would darken all her 
future life. For five minutes she suffered pangs 
worse than the agonies of death. 

At last she spoke. 

“Ah! yes, madame — perfectly — M. Fromont. 
We can make you one precisely similar for five 
thousand dollars.” 

“ Thanks,” said Claire ; “ I will think about it.” 

A mirror opposite reflected the frightful pallor 
of her face, and she hurried away, lest she should 
faint. 

She had but one idea — to be alone. Suddenly, 
without knowing how she had reached it, she beheld 
the dark walls of the factory before her. By what 
road had she come ? had she walked ? She never 
knew. But the stern reality of her life and her 
sorrows returned to her as she ascended the broad 
stone steps of her home. Risler himself was there, 
superintending the arrangement of the ornamental 
plants in the hall. It was the night of Sidonie’s 
ball. 

This atmosphere of luxury and fetes pursued her, 
then, to her own home ; it was too much, and she 


208 


SID ON IE. 


lost her temper; and, when Kisler bowed to her 
ynth his usual deference, she looked him full in the 
eyes, and, with an expression of utter contempt, 
swept past without one word. 

From that moment the course she would take 
appeared plainly before her. 

She hastily kissed her child, and then ran to her 
mother’s room. 

“ Hurry, mamma ! ” she cried — “ hurry, for we 
are going away.” 

The old lady rose slowly from her arm-chair, 
where she had been rubbing her watch-chain with 
infinite care; her daughter restrained her impa- 
tience and looked about the apartment, and all at 
once realized* the full depth of her own loneliness. 
Her mother’s mind was nearly gone, her husband 
faithless, and her child too young to sympathize 
w T ith her! 

In a moment the whole household was busy in 
preparations for this abrupt departure. Claire, per- 
fectly self-possessed, directed all their movements. 
She determined to* depart before George’s return, 
so that when he came he should be greeted by a va- 
cant home and an empty cradle. Where should 
she go ? She had not decided — perhaps to an aunt 
at Lyons — possibly to Savigny. It mattered little ; 
her first care must be simply to leave this atmosphere 
of falsehood and treachery. 

As she bent over a trunk, each article that she 
placed in it seemed to be full of memories — there 
is so much of ourselves in all the trifles which we 


REVELATIONS. 


209 


see constantly. Sometimes, the perfume of a sachet , 
or the design on a bit of lace, brings the tears to 
our eyes. Suddenly, a heavy step was heard in the 
salon , the door of which was open — then a slight 
congh. She supposed it was Bisler, for he alone 
had the right to enter thus familiarly. The idea of 
seeing that hypocritical smile, that lying face, dis- 
turbed her hardly-won equanimity, and she sprang 
to the door to close it. But Sigismond appeared. 
“ Madame,” he said, mysteriously, “ I have come 
for the money.” 

“ What money?” asked Claire, who had utterly 
forgotten why she had gone to Savigny. 

“ Why, the money for to-mcrrow’s payments — M. 
George told me that you would hand it over to me.” 

“ True, very true ; but I have not got it.” 

“ Then,” said the cashier, in a low voice, as if 
speaking to himself, “there is nothing for us but 
absolute bankruptcy ! ” 

Claire started at this fatal word, and staggered, 
half fainting, to a chair. 

For the last few hours her mind had been so ab- 
sorbed in the ruin of happiness and hopes that she 
had paid little heed to the ruin of the firm. 

But this bitter recollection overwhelmed her 
now ; George would return to find his home de- 
serted, his wife and child gone ! And then Claire 
asked herself what would become of that weak and 
erring nature, left to face the storm alone ? 

Her eyes filled with tears, and her heart with 
compassion, notwithstanding the wrongs she had re- 


210 


STD ON IE. 


ceived at his hands. “ He will have the right to 
say,” she thought, “ that his wife deserted him when 
poverty and misfortunes were crowding upon him ! ” 
He might say, “Were I still rich, she would 
have forgiven me.” A few minutes’ quiet reflection 
showed Claire the path of duty clear before her ; 
and, when her servants came for further instruction, 
the sad wife answered gently that she had changed 
her intentions, and was not then going away. 


CHAPTER III. 


NOTE TO MEET. 

It was midnight. A fine snow was falling fast, 
and Risler, wrapped in his cloak, was on his way 
home from the brewery, where he had supped, for 
the first time for weeks. His invention had been 
pronounced, that very day, a great success, and the 
good man was overjoyed that, with its aid, he could 
hope to return to the firm some portion of the obli- 
gations that his old master, the uncle of George 
Fromont, had placed him under. His thoughts 
were happy thoughts, and his step was light. He 
should exchange Asnieres for a larger place farther 
away from Paris, for Sidonie was growing tired of 
the toy. Then, Frantz must come home ; this won- 
derful invention of his would quadruple the profits 
of the house, while diminishing the labors of the 
operatives ; and should Frantz remain in that un- 
healthy country when his brother was living in 
luxury at home — remain, too, in the power of ty- 
rannical masters, who gave their employes a leave 
of absence only to cut it short when they pleased, 
without affording any explanation of their conduct ? 
for Risler had always felt very sore over the sudden 


212 


siDOivm 


departure of Frantz, who by his brief visit had 
revived all the affection of his older brother. Yes, 
his invention once in thorough running order, and 
it would not be difficult to find some nominal em- 
ployment for Frantz in the establishment. As of 
yore, Risler thought only of the happiness of those 
about him. Thus thinking, he reached the corner 
of his own street. A long line of carriages before 
the house, the group of coachmen sheltering them- 
selves in the neighboring porches from the fast-fall- 
ing snow, brought to the memory of the good man 
the fact that Sidonie gave a large ball that night, 
from which she had graciously permitted her hus- 
band to absent himself, on account of u that incessant 
business.” In the midst of all his generous plans 
for her happiness, the music of this fei6 pleased him, 
and he had an emotion of gratified vanity, as he saw 
the second story of the house blazing with lights. 
Shadows passed and repassed — they were dancing. 
For one moment Risler watched the crowd through 
the lace curtains that but half shaded the windows, 
and then, turning away, caught sight of Sidonie’s 
shadow in a small room off the salon . She was 
standing, as if in front of a mirror. Behind her 
was a smaller figure, evidently Madame Dobson, 
who was apparently busy in repairing some disorder 
of her dress. All this was vague, but Risler recog- 
nized the graceful outlines of his wife’s figure. 

On the lower floor all was dark, w T ith the exception 
of the glimmer of a night-taper in the sleeping-room. 
As fche t baby had not been very well, Risler was 


NOTE TO MEET . 


213 


startled, and immediately thought of the singular 
agitation shown by Madame George, and turned 
back at once to find Achille, and discover from him 
if anything was wrong. 

The gardener’s lodge was full, for the coachmen 
had crowded around Achille’s stove to smoke and 
warm themselves. 

“ Is the little girl ill $•” asked Risler. 

“No, sir, it is not the child; it is M. George. 
He was taken when he came home this evening. I 
went for a doctor, who came, but said there was 
nothing to be done, and nothing needed, except rest 
and quiet.” And, as Ilisler went out and closed the 
door behind him, Achille added with a half sneer : 

“ They are not quite so merry on the first floor 
as on the second ! ” 

When young Fromont, on returning home that 
evening, saw his wife, he knew at once by her face 
that something had happened. He had been so ac- 
customed for two years to seeing his treachery go 
unpunished, that at first the idea that Claire had 
discovered his conduct did not occur to him. Claire 
spoke only of Savigny. “ I could do nothing with 
my grandfather,” she said, sadly. 

George grew frightfully pale. “ I am ruined — 
I am ruined!” he said over and over again. His 
sleepless nights, his anxiety of mind, and a terrible 
scene that he had had wjth Sidonie, who persisted 
in giving this ball at this time— this unexpected re- 
fusal on the part of M. Gardinois — all combined to 
prostrate the poor fellow. He had a frightful ner- 


2U 


SIDONIE. 


vous attack, and Claire gently and compassionately 
persuaded him to go to bed, and installed herself at 
his side. She tried to speak to him as usual, but 
her voice lacked its wonted tenderness. In the very 
air with which she arranged his pillows and dropped 
his medicines there was an indefinable change — an 
indifferent coldness — that her husband felt. 

“ I have ruined you,” said George more than 
once, as if to disturb this coldness that he felt so 
keenly. She with a disdainful gesture seemed to 
say, “ That is a trifle.” 

At last he fell asleep, and she sat near, watching 
him. “ It is my duty,” she said. Her duty ! There 
she sat, hour after hour, by the side of the being 
whom she had so blindly worshiped. 

The ball above had begun, and the ceiling was 
jarred by the rapid steps of the dancers, and the 
half-sad, half-merry strains of the German dance- 
music came to the sad wife. 

Claire was buried in thought. She knew that 
the melancholy logic of life was immutable. She 
did not ask herself why this man had so deceived 
her, nor yet why for a mere caprice he had thrown 
away happiness and honor. Sufficient for her was 
the fact that he had done so. It was not the past 
that occupied all her thoughts — it was the future. 

A new life slowly unrolled itself before her 
weary eyes — dark and se^re, full of privation and 
of toil — and, singularly enough, this future did not 
terrify her. What a task would be hers — the care 
of three children — her mother, her child, and her 


NOTE TO MEET. 


215 


husband — for both mother and husband were chil- 
dren ! And the longer she dwelt on the responsibil- 
ities that would be hers in the future the less she 
thought of her own sorrows, and the better she un- 
derstood the full meaning of the word sacrifice — a 
word so vague from indifferent lips, so full of so- 
lemnity when it becomes the rule of one’s life. 

These were the reflections of poor Claire in that 
dimly-lighted room, whose one single taper, like a 
spark fallen from the brilliant chandelier in the 
ballroom above, had attracted Risler’s attention. 
.Reassured by Achille’s words, the good man deter- 
mined to steal quietly into the house, and, avoiding 
his guests, go to bed and to sleep, if possible. To 
do this, he was obliged to return to his office to make 
use of a private staircase. He passed through two 
or three of the large rooms. The pale moon, now 
occasionally emerging from the clouds, shone fitfully 
through the unshaded windows. A strong smell of 
oil and varnish still lingered there, and the huge 
rolls of paper gleamed white like shrouded ghosts. 
Suddenly he caught sight of a ray of light from 
under the door of the cashier’s office. Could old 
Planus be still at work at one o’clock in the morn- 
ing? It was very extraordinary ! Could a burglar 
have effected an entrance ? At this last idea Risler, 
moving with great caution, softly opened the door, 
and was inclined to retreat as softly 

Since Risler’s inexplicable break with Sigismond 
he had carefully avoided being alone with him. His 
wounded pride prevented him from asking an ex- 


216 


SID ON IE. 


planation of the singular coldness that had so hurt 
him. But this evening Risler was so happy and so 
hopeful that he felt disposed to make some advances 
to his old friend. 

The cashier was seated at his desk, a pile of 
books in front of him, and more on the floor at his 
side. Risler went to the grating. “ Sigismond,” 
he said, in a gentle tone. 

The old man looked up, and tears — the first he 
had shed since he was a boy — stood in his eyes. 
“ You are in trouble, my friend. What is the 
matter ? ” and Risler held out his hand, but Sigis- 
mond drew back hastily. This movement was so 
sudden, and evidently so instinctive, that all Risler’ s 
sympathy changed to indignation. 

He straightened himself up. “ I offered you 
my hand, Sigismond Planus.” 

“ And I refused to give you mine,” answered 
Planus, rising. 

A long silence ensued ; neither of the two men 
spoke ; the distant music of the ballroom came in 
gusts, as it were, of melody. 

“ Why do you reject my hand ? ” at last asked 
Risler, slowly and sternly ; the iron grating, against 
which he leaned, shaking with the violence of the 
man’s repressed emotion. 

u Why ? Because you have ruined this honor- 
able house ; because in a few hours a messenger will 
come from the bank, and, standing just where you 
stand, will present to me notes which, thanks to 
you, I cannot pay ! ” 


NOTE TO MEET. 


217 


Bisler stood utterly confounded. 

“ I ruined the house ? I ? ” 

“ Yes, you, sir! and worse than that, you have 
ruined it through your wife, and you have arranged 
between you two to profit by our disgrace. I under- 
stand your game. The money out of which your 
wife has cajoled George Fromont, her diamonds, 
the house at Asnieres, all stand in her name — out of 
reach of all danger — and you will in some way 
manage to evade all liabilities.” 

Bisler’ s lips parted, as if to speak ; all his feat- 
ures contracted with an expression of anguish ; he 
swayed heavily forward, dragging with him the iron 
grating, and fell on the floor. Fie did not utterly 
lose consciousness ; probably the blood that streamed 
from a wound on his head relieved the pressure on 
his brain. Sigismond helped him to the low bench 
where the workmen sat on pay-day, loosened his 
cravat, and bathed his temples. When Eisler, at 
last, opened his eyes, he saw Madame George, wdio 
had been summoned by Sigismond, leaning over 
him. “ Is it true, madame, is it true ? ” said the 
poor fellow, as soon as he could speak. Claire could 
not answer, and turned away sadly. “ So,” he con- 
tinued, “it is true that the firm is ruined, and 
through me ? ” 

“ No, my dear old friend, not through you ! ” 

“ Then through my wife ? Ah ! this is tenible, 
and that is the way I have paid my debt of gratitude I 
But you, Madame George, you have not really be- 
lieved me an accomplice in such villainy?” 

10 


218 


SID O NIK 


“ No, my friend, be calm — I know you to be the 
most honest man in the world ! ” 

He looked at her for a moment, his lips trem- 
bling, and his clasped hands extended imploringly ; 
for all his ways and expressions were singularly sim- 
ple and childlike. “ To think,” he murmured, “ that 
I have brought these misfortunes upon you ! ” Sud- 
denly he rose. “We must not waste our time in 
this way,” he cried ; “ I must settle my accounts ! ” 
Madame Fromont was terrified, for she thought he 
meant that he must see George, and cried in an 
agonized tone, “ Eisler ! ” 

He turned; looking at her, he understood her 
fears. “ Be at ease, madame ; your husband may sleep 
tranquilly ; I have something to attend to first, of 
more importance than my impaired honor. Wait for 
me — I will return shortly.” 

He hurried up the narrow staircase, and Claire 
sat opposite Planus in silence. Some twenty minutes 
elapsed, when a noise of hurried footsteps was 
heard, and the rustling of silks. 

Sidonie came first, in ball-dress, but so deadly 
pale that the jewels that sparkled on neck and arms 
seemed more alive than herself. She was trembling 
with emotion of some kind ; whether this emotion 
was fear or anger, remained to be seen. Eisler was 
behind her, laden with papers, jewel-cases, and a 
writing-desk. When he entered his wife’s room, 
he went at once to her escritoire, and emptied it of 
its contents. He found jewels, the deed of the house 
at Asnieres, and some certificates of stocks ; then, 


NOTE TO MEET. 


219 


on the threshold of the ballroom, he called his wife 
loudly — 

“ Madame Eisler ! ” 

She ran quickly to him — so quickly that no one 
perceived the tragic meaning of the summons — and 
entered her boudoir after him. When she saw her 
escritoire open, the drawers on the floor, their con- 
tents scattered here and there, she stood aghast. 

“ I know all ! ” said her husband. 

She attempted a look of disdain, but Eisler 
grasped her arm with such violence that the words 
of his brother came back to her at once : “It will 
kill him, perhaps, but he will kill you first ! ” She 
had more than an ordinary woman’s fear of death, 
and made no resistance. 

“ Where are we going ? ” she asked. 

Eisler did not answer. She had only time to 
throw over her uncovered neck a scarf of light tulle, 
which she caught from a table as she passed. Her 
husband thus dragged or rather pushed her down 
the narrow staircase. 

“We are here,” he said, as they entered the office. 
“Having stolen, we have now come to restore our 
booty. — Here, Planus, you can raise the necessary 
gum with this trash.” And with a movement of con- 
tempt and loathing he tossed on the cashier’s desk 
the mass of feminine spoils with which he was 
loaded. 

Then, turning to his wife, he said sternly, “ Those 
jewels, madam e, and hurry, if you please ! ” 

She, with the utmost calmness, and with a linger- 


220 


SIDONIE. 


ing, caressing touch, loosened the clasps of her neck- 
lace and bracelets, where the initial of her name — 
“ S ” — looked like a slumbering serpent. Bisler, out 
of all patience, broke the frail chains, and the jewels 
fell in a glittering heap. “1 must do my part,” 
cried her husband, feverishly. “ Where is my pocket- 
book ? Have I anything else ? Ah ! my watch and 
chain ! — How, Sigismond, we have much to do : as 
soon as day breaks, all these things must be disposed 
of in time to meet our payments. I know a man 
who wants to buy the house, so that is quickly 
settled.” 

He spoke and moved as if insane. Sigismond 
and Madame George looked at him in silence. As 
to Sidonie, she seemed turned to marble ; once only 
did she move, and then in an unconscious way, only 
to draw more closely around her shoulders the tulle 
scarf — the air from the door, open into the garden, 
made her shiver. Did she hear the music from the 
ballroom? Was she thinking of the strange con- 
trast of the two apartments ? A heavy hand on her 
arm aroused her from her torpor, and Bisler drew 
her toward Claire. 

“ On your knees ! ” 

Madame Fromont drew back. “Ho, no, Bisler, 
not that ! ” she said, in dismayed entreaty. 

“ It must be ! ” answered Bisler, sternly ; “ she 
shall implore your forgiveness. — On your knees, 
madame ! ” and he compelled Sidonie to fall on the 
ground at Claire’s feet. “You will repeat after me, 
word for word, just what I say: ‘Madame — ’ ” 


NOTE TO MEET. 


221 


Sidonie, half paralyzed with fear, whispered, 
“ 6 Madame — ’ ” 

“‘If a life of humility, of submission — 

“ ‘ If a life of humil — ’ Ho, I will not ! ’ ’ she 
cried ; and, bounding to her feet like a wild creature, 
and shaking off Risler’s grasp, she rushed through 
the open door into the silence and darkness of the 
night, through the wind, and the fast-falling snow. 

“ Stop her ! ” cried Claire, in an agony. “ Ris- 
ler — Planus — I implore you ! Do not let her go in 
that way ! ” 

Planus moved to obey her, but Pisler caught 
him. “ Let her go,” he said, sternly ; “ I forbid you 
to follow her ! — I beg your pardon, madame, but we 
have more important matters than that on hand. — 
To your books, Planus ; we have much to do.” 

Sigismond extended his hand. 

“ You are an honest man, Risler ; forgive my 
suspicions.’^ Risler did not look as if he heard 
these words, but turned at once to the books to make 
a memorandum of the certificates of stock, and an 
estimate of the value of the jewels, guided by Pla- 
nus, whose father had been a lapidary. 

All this time Claire had been standing at the 
window, watching the garden-walks, where Sidonie’s 
footprints were already nearly effaced; and the 
dancing still continued. Who of the guests imag- 
ined that the mistress of the house, with rage and 
despair at her heart, was flying through the streets 
of Paris, homeless and forsaken ? 

Where was she going ? Her first idea was to 


222 


SID ON IE. 


find Casaboni, whom, after all, she had not dared to 
ask to her ball ; but he lived at Montmartre, and 
it was too far for her to go there in the dress she 
wore. Where should she go ? Her parents would 
receive her, without doubt ; but she was in no mood 
to listen to the sobs and lamentations of Madame 
Chebe. Then she remembered Dellobelle. In this 
utter downfall of all her splendors, she thought of 
the old actor who had first taught her to dance, to 
move, to hold her fan, and who had been the first 
to encourage her vanity by his openly-expressed ad- 
miration. Something told her that with him she 
should obtain sympathy. She took one of the car- 
riages that stood by the garden-gate, and ordered 
the coachman to drive to La Hue Beaumarchais. 

For some time Madame Dellobelle had earned a 
scanty pittance by braiding straw ; but Dellobelle 
continued to grow stout, while his wife, day by day, 
faded away to a mere shadow. He had just taken 
the cover off of a bowl of soup, when a knock was 
heard at the door. The actor, who had returned 
from the representation of some bloody drama, 
started as he heard these summons in the middle 
of the night. 

“ Who is there ? ” he asked, in a startled tone. 

“ It is I — Sidonie ! Open quick ! ” 

She entered with a shiver, took a seat in front 
of the stove, and poured out her rage and indigna- 
tion in a torrent of words, and in a voice that was 
subdued only on account of Madame Dellobelle, who 
was asleep in the next room. The luxury of her 


NOTE TO MEET 


m 


toilet, tlie shimmering silks and frosty lace&, all 
offered a strange contrast to this dingy room, these 
piles of straw, and gave the impression of one of 
those terrible dramas in real life where all ranks 
and stations are confounded. 

“ N o, I shall never go back there again ; I am 
free at last ! ” 

“ But who could have denounced you to your 
husband ? ” 

“ It is Frantz ; I am sure of it. He would have 
believed no one else. Besides, a letter came last 
night from Egypt. The idea of his compelling 
me to kneel to that woman ! But I will revenge 
myself!” And a faint smile curved her pale 
lips. 

The old actor listened with vivid interest. Not- 
withstanding his compassion for “that poor devil 
Bisler ” and for Sidonie herself, whom he called in 
theatrical parlance “ the guilty beauty,” he could not 
prevent himself from looking at the whole affair from 
an artistic point of view, and suddenly cried out, 
a What a situation for a fifth act ! ” 

She did not hear him ; absorbed in thoughts of 
revenge, she had drawn closer to the fire, and me- 
chanically took off her satin shoes to empty the 
snow with which they were filled. 

“ And now what are you going to do ? ” asked 
Dellobelle. 

“ Remain here until morning, and then we shall 
see.” 

“ I have no bed to offer you, my poor child.” 


224 


SID 0 ME. 


“ Never mind, I can sleep in that arm-chair — I 
am not fastidious ! 55 

The actor sighed. 

“ Ah ! yes, that arm-chair — it was poor Zizi’s ; 
many a time she has sat in it all night, when work 
pressed. Well, well ! those who are taken away are 
better off than those who are left ! ” Just then the 
actor caught sight of his bowl of soup, and remem- 
bered with grief that it must be stone-cold by that 
time. 

Sidonie saw his tragic start. “ But you were 
about to sup ; don’t let me disturb you.” 

“It is a part of my regular life,” continued the 
actor; “ a fixed hour for my meals is impossible in 
my profession ; I must eat when I can and as I can. 
I know what I should do in your place. I would go 
on the stage ; you need the excitement of such a 
career; besides,” he resumed, as he took his first 
mouthful of soup — “ besides, a success on the boards 
need in no way impede your success as a pretty 
woman, nor vice versa. I will give you lessons in 
declamation. With your voice, your intelligence, 
your appearance, you will have a magnificent future.” 

And suddenly, as if to initiate her into the joys 
of the profession, he exclaimed : “ But you have had 
no supper, and emotion is exhausting; take this 
plate — I am sure that you have not eaten a soup so 
good as this for a long time.” 

She seated herself opposite her host; a faint color 
came toiler cheeks, and her eyes glittered with tears 
and excitement. 


NOTE TO MEET. 


225 


The shallow-hearted creature! Her life, her 
name, her fortune, were a complete wreck. Honor, 
happiness, family, were all gone. She had been 
driven from her home ; she had been overwhelmed 
by every imaginable disaster, by every imaginable 
humiliation. But this did not prevent her from 
eating her supper with the best possible appetite, 
nor from the enjoyment of Dellobelle’s jokes, which, 
stale and unprofitable in reality, were new to her. 

She already felt in readiness to start to that new 
country, the Bohemia, of which she had dreamed, 
and where she really belonged. 

What had the future in store for her, now that 
she was cut loose from all old ties and associations ? 
Thus wondering, Sidonie made herself comfortable 
in Desiree’s arm-chair, and slept with an untroubled 
conscience for several hours, awaking finally with 
her dear plan of revenge fully arranged in each de- 
tail. 


CHAPTEE I V. 


THE NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 

It was late in tlie morning when young Fromonfc 
awoke. All night, through the drama that had 
been enacted below him and the ball that had been 
going on above, he had slept one of those dream- 
less slumbers, such as sometimes come to strengthen 
the criminal on the eve of execution, or to sootht 
the broken spirit of the mourner — such a slumbei 
as one might well pray never to be roused from. 

The bright light that streamed into his windows 
brighter than usual on account of the white snov 
on all the roofs and walls, brought George back to 
the realities of life. For a moment he was bewil- 
dered, and with difficulty recalled the impending 
disaster of the day. He heard the ordinary noises 
in the streets — the regular jar of the machinery in 
the factory. 

The bell rang. “ What ! twelve o’clock ? How 
I have slept ! ” 

He felt a pang of self-reproach that he had not 
been in the office to share the mortification of Eisler 
and Sigismond ; and he looked out in the garden, 
where he heard voices, and saw his partner and the 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FRO MONT. 227 


cashier in earnest conversation. He dressed hur- 
riedly, and, as he left his room, met Claire on the 
threshold. 

“ You must not go out,” she said. 

“ And why not ? ” 
u I will explain — ■” 

“ Has any one come from the bank % ” 

“ Yes ; and the notes are all paid.” 

“ Paid ! ” 

“ Yes — Risler got the money. It seems that his 
wife had magnificent jewels. He sold them this 
morning, and also the house at Asnieres, with all 
that it contained. But, as there was not time to 
register the sale, Planus and his sister advanced the 
money.” Claire did not look at her husband while 
she spoke, and he, in his turn, did not lift his eyes. 

u Bisler is an honest man,” she continued, “ and 
when he knew from whom his wife had obtained — ” 
“ What ! ” said George, startled out of his self- 
possession ; “ he knows — ? ” 

“ Everything — and I too — I knew it all, before 
Bisler did.” She drew nearer her husband. “ I was 
told it at Savigny, with so many cruel words that I 
would gladly give ten years of my life to forget — ” 
“ Claire ! ” cried her husband, and took one step 
toward his wife, hut her face was so cold, her indif- 
ference so great, her contempt so apparent, that he 
dared not say one word. 

“ You find me calm,” said the courageous wom- 
an, “ for I shed all my tears yesterday. You may 
imagine that I wept over our ruin, but you are mi& 


228 


SID 0 ME. 


taken ; while one is young and strong, such tears 
are cowardly. No ; I wept over our vanished love, 
our buried happiness — over you — over your madness 
that has cost you the loss of a faithful heart ! ” 

She was beautiful as she stood before him — more 
beautiful than Sidonie had ever been. If in other 
and happier days her face lacked expression, or was 
a trifle too severe in its classic beauty, the painful 
vigils of the night had now softened and given it an 
additional charm. 

George implored her pardon, and would have 
knelt at her feet. 

Claire started back. “ If you only knew,” she 
cried, “what you recall to me — whose false and 
treacherous face I have seen at my feet this last ter- 
rible night — •” 

“ But mine is not false ! ” answered George. 

Some one knocked. “ You see,” she said, with 
a bitter smile, “ that the world claims us.” 

A servant appeared. “ M. Risler would like to 
see M. Fromont in the office.” 

“ Yery well,” answered his mistress; “say that 
M. Fromont will be there as soon as possible.” 

George turned to obey the summons, but his wife 
stopped him. “ Let me go first.” 

George demurred. “Yery well,” said Claire, 
“do as you please, but if you knew the frightful 
scene of last night — if you had seen his conduct to 
his wife — -” And here Claire, with feminine malice, 
stopped, and with feminine curiosity examined her 
husband’s face. 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FRO MONT, %%$ 

George was unmoved. “ My life belongs to this 
man.” 

“ It belongs to me also, and I do not wish you 
to meet him yet. There has been scandal enough 
under my father’s roof. Remember that all the 
operatives thoroughly understand what has been 
going on, and all the authority of the overseers was 
required to-day to get them quietly at their work.” 

“ But I shall look as if I were in hiding.” 

“And what of that? How strange men are! 
They do not shrink from deceiving a wife or a 
friend ; but the thought that some one may call 
them cowardly touches them to the quick. Listen ! 
Sidonie is gone, gone forever ; and, if you go out of 
this house, I shall consider that you have gone to 
join her.” 

“ Very well,” said George. “I will do as you 
wish.” 

Claire went down to the office. 

Seeing Risler walking up and down the room, 
his arms folded, and his face as quiet as ever, no one 
would have imagined that he had had any part in 
the occurrences of the previous night. 

When Madame Fromont entered, Risler shook 
his head. “ Ah ! ” he said, wearily, “ I expected you, 
but it is not with you that I must talk. We have 
weathered the gale ; but we have still many impor- 
tant arrangements to make.” 

“ Risler, my friend, wait a little.” 

“ Why, Madame George ? There is not a minute 
to lose. All! I understand, you fear some mani- 


&3D 


SID ON IE. 


festations of rage from me. No ; remember what I 
said — the honor of the firm must be vindicated before 
my own.” 

“ Your conduct has been admirable, my dear 
Kisler.” 

“ Ah ! madame, if you knew the whole ! He is a 
hero,” said poor Sigismond, who, though he dared 
not speak again to his old friend, wished to show 
him something of the regret and shame that filled 
his own heart. 

Claire continued : “ Good as you are, you cannot 
be certain of your powers of self-control. Perhaps, 
in the presence of the man who has — ” 

Risler took her trembling hands. “Dear ma- 
dame,” he said, tenderly, “ do not speak of the evil 
that man has done to me. I hate him quite as much 
for the misery he has inflicted on you. But, at pres- 
ent, I think of him only as a partner in certain mer- 
cantile transactions, whose opinion and authority I 
must have before I take certain steps where haste is 
imperatively required. Let him meet me here, then, 
at once.” 

“ I believe you,” said Claire, and turned away to 
seek her husband. 

The first few moments of this interview were 
terrible. George was pale and agitated. He would 
rather have faced a volley of musketry than this 
man. Risler did not look at him, but continued to 
pace the room while he spoke. 

“ Our house has gone through a frightful crisis, 
The catastrophe has been avoided for the time being. 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 231 

I have been too much occupied with that invention ; 
fortunately, all that is happily completed, and I am 
free, and can devote myself to the supervision of 
our interests. But you must do the same. The 
workmen have followed their employer’s example, 
and this morning, for the first time for a year, they 
have gone punctually to their duties. You must 
regulate all this. Our patterns are old — I must 
make new designs. I have great confidence in my 
invention, and with its aid I hope to set things 
straight. I should have told you of its complete 
success, but I wished to surprise you. But nothing 
can surprise either of us now. Am I not right, 
George ? ” 

Claire trembled, for the satirical tone was so cut- 
ting that she feared an explosion, but he continued 
quietly : 

66 In six months I assure you that the invention 
will yield magnificent results. But these six months 
will require all our energy, all our watchfulness. 
We must retrench at every turn, and shrink from 
no economy. W e have five designers : we must 
dismiss three. I will take upon myself to do the 
work of those three. In conclusion, I wish to say 
that, after this month, I dissolve our partnership, 
and will receive only my old salary.” 

Fromont wished to speak, but a look from his 
wife restrained him. 

“ I am your partner no longer, George. You 
must make no objection — that point is settled. I 
shall resume my old position until the firm is free 


232 


SID G NIK 


from every embarrassment. What I shall do then 
depends on circumstances. One word more, George. 
You must occupy yourself exclusively with your 
business. The hand and the eye of the master must 
be felt everywhere, and if you fulfill your duty I am 
certain that one among our numerous misfortunes is 
not irreparable.” 

During the silence that followed, a noise of 
wheels was heard, and two huge wagons drew up in 
front of the house. 

“ I must leave you for a moment,” said Risler ; 
“ those are the wagons from the auction-room ; they 
have come for my furniture.” 

“What!” cried Madame Fromont, “you are 
not going to sell this furniture, too ? ” 

“ Certainly, to the very last stick.” 

“ But it is impossible,” said George ; “ I will not 
permit it ! ” 

Kisler turned on him like lightning. “ What 
do you say — you will not permit it ? ” 

Claire made an appealing gesture. “ You prom- 
ised,” she whispered. 

“True — true!” he answered, and hurried away 
to escape the temptation that was swelling within 
his heart. 

The second floor was deserted. The servants, 
having been paid and dismissed that morning, had 
left the rooms in all the disorder that follows after 
a fete , and over all lingered a certain air of expect- 
ancy — an air that generally pervades a spot which 
has been the scene of a startling drama, and where, 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 233 

too, the end is not yet. The doors stood widely 
open ; the carpets were taken op, and the long table 
in the dining-room was still loaded with glass and 
china and the remains of the supper. The mingled 
odors of faded flowers and punch assailed Bisler on 
his entrance. There, too, was the piano, with the 
music of “ Orphee aux Enfers ” upon it. The win- 
dows were thrown up, and the lace curtains waved in 
the fresh morning breeze. The whole aspect of the 
rooms suggested a shipwrecked steamer, whose pas- 
sengers had escaped only with their lives. 

Pisler superintended the porters who were mov- 
ing the furniture. All the luxury that had filled 
his heart with innocent pride now inspired him with 
unconquerable disgust. But, when he entered his 
wife’s apartment, his emotion nearly choked him. 
It was a large room, hung with light-blue silk — white 
lace and ribbons everywhere— -at the windows and 
on the Pompadour toilet-table. On the floor lay a 
faded flower, a spray of artificial roses, a bit of lace 
torn from a flounce. The candles of the long psyche 
had burned themselves out, and so shivered their 
crystal sconces. The bed, shrouded in curtains of 
blue and white, looked like a couch of state on which 
no one ever slept. 

At first Risler felt a spasm of regret, but in a 
moment his heart grew hot with rage and indigna- 
tion. Nothing retains so much of a woman’s indi- 
viduality as the room in which she lives. Even 
when absent, her image still smiles on you from 
her mirror. Her favorite chair is there, the dainty 


234 


SID 0 NIB. 


work-basket ; and the whole atmosphere is filled with 
her favorite perfume. 

But here the thing that most vividly recalled 
Sidonie was an etagere loaded with trifles — a mi- 
nute china tea-service, a microscopic fan, a gilt 
shoe, a small shepherd and shepherdess exchanging 
smiles and bows. This etagere seemed to be a rep- 
resentation of Sidonie’s character. She herself, her 
principles, her honor, her ambitions and hopes, 
were as trifling and as fragile as the playthings on 
this piece of useless furniture. 

Poor Risler’s thoughts were sad enough, while 
all about him went on the noise of hammers and 
heavy footsteps. The confusion momentarily in- 
creased, when suddenly he heard M Ohebe’s voice 
in the anteroom, and his father-in-law appeared at 
the door, irate and aggressive. 

“ What is this I hear, Risler ? What are you 
doing ? ” 

“ Selling ont, sir.” 

The little man glared in a stupefied sort of way. 
“ Selling out ! and why, if I may be permitted the 
question ? ” 

“ Because I choose to do so,” answered Risler, 
m measured tones. 

M. Ch&be took a step forward, and said in a low 
voice : “ I do not deny that Sidonie’s fault has been 
most grave. However, I know very little about it. 
I still must remind you of the old proverb, that it 
is better to wash our dirty linen at home. It is not 
worth while, it strikes me, to offer your work-peo- 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 235 

pie theatrical amuseinents gratis. Every operative 
in your factory is laughing at you and watching 
every movement. Look ! Each pane in those 
windows has a face behind it You are the laugh- 
ing-stock of the neighborhood, my dear fellow ! ” 
And Chebe pulled up his collar with a supercilious 
air. 

“ So much the better. The dishonor has been 
public ; let the reparation be public too.” 

This apparent calm indifference exasperated his 
father-in-law ; he changed his tone, and began to 
speak to Kisler as one speaks to children and fools. 

“ But you have no right to do what you are 
doing. I shall oppose it formally with all my au- 
thority as a father. Do you think that you will be 
allowed to turn my child into the street \ Not at 
all, and nothing more shall be taken from the 
house.” 

And M. Chebe planted himself before the door 
with a martial air. He was superb in this attitude, 
but it did not last long : he was quietly seized by 
two strong arms, and placed in the centre of the 
room, while the workmen went in and out as they 
pleased. 

“ Listen to me,” said Kisler, earnestly. “ I am 
at the end of my patience. For hours I have 
placed a curb on my tongue ; but this cannot last, 
I warn you. You had better leave me. I am in 
the mood to kill some one; I give you fair warn 
ing ! ” 

Risler’s tone was so full of suppressed fury, in 


236 


SIDONIE. 


his eyes blazed so fierce a fire, that Chebe was 
convinced that obedience was the better part of 
valor, to say nothing of discretion. He stammered 
a few words of apology, as he gradually got nearer 
the door. On the threshold he lingered long enough 
to ask if Madame Chebe’s small allowance would 
be continued. 

“ Yes,” answered Risler, “but do not be tempted 
to exceed it, for my position here is no longer the 
same, and I am not now a partner in the firm.” 

Chebe opened a pair of astonished eyes, but said 
not one word. Was this man his meek son-in-law? 
Was this Risler, who bristled all over at the least 
syllable, and who talked of killing people so coolly ? 

He slunk obsequiously down the stairs, but at 
the outer door resumed his usual vain-glorious air, 
and, when he passed Achille at the gate, was the 
same pompous little man that had entered. 

When every room was empty, Risler took the 
key and went to the cashier’s office. 

“ Let the rooms,” he said, “ and credit the house 
with the amount.” 

“Rut what will become of you, my friend?” 

“ Oh ! I — I need very little ; I will put a bed 
somewhere up in the attic here.” 

George, who was with the cashier, was so over- 
whelmed by these sad words that he precipitately 
left the room. Claire, who was also there, laid her 
hand on Risler’s shoulder. 

“I thank you, my friend, in the name of my 
father,” she said, gently. 


NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 23 ? 

“It is of him I think, madame, all the time,” 
he answered, simply. 

Achille at that moment entered with a large 
package of letters ; Kisler took them, opened them, 
one after another, and then handed them over to 
Sigismond. 

“An order from Lyons, another from Saint- 
Etienne — ” Suddenly he stopped. Among the large 
business envelopes he saw another, much smaller, 
sealed with care. He recognized the writing at once. 
In the corner was written “ Personal.” It was from 
Sidonie. Beholding it, he felt precisely as he did on 
, entering her apartment an hour previous. 

All his love and all his anger did battle within 
his heart. Why had she written ? What falsehood 
had she invented? He began to open the letter, 
then hesitated. He saw clearly that, to read it, he 
needed more courage and calmness than were then 
his. 

“ Sigismond,” he said, in a low voice, “ will you 
do me a favor ? ” 

“ Indeed I will,” answered the cashier, overjoyed 
to hear once more a kind word from Risler. 

“ Look here — this is a letter that I cannot read 
now. I am sure it would prevent me from thinking 
and acting. Keep it for me, and take this too ” (and 
he drew from his pocket a small package, carefully 
sealed, and handed the two to Sigismond). “It 
is all that remains to me of the past; all that 
remains to me of that woman. I am determined 
not to see her, nor to see anything th$t can recall 


238 


sib o mu. 


her, so long as I remain in this establishment. Yon 
understand that I need all my head. You must pay 
to Chebe his allowance. If she herself should come 
to ask anything, you will do all that is necessary 
without consulting me. But never mention her 
name to me ; and you will take the best of care of 
these things which I intrust to you.” 

Sigismond placed the letter and the package in 
a secret drawer of his desk, until his friend should 
reclaim them. Then Itisler returned to his corre- 
spondence, but for some time he saw nothing save 
the long, slender letters traced by the little hand 
which he had so often, and so tenderly, clasped 
within his own. 


CHAPTER Y. 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 

Right after night Risler’s lamp burned until 
the morning sun shamed its feeble rays. He had 
furnished for himself, away up among the eaves, 
a small room, closely resembling the one in which 
he had lived with Frantz. He worked constantly ; 
hut, alas ! youth and hope were gone, and with them 
all the charm of the old life. To he sure, Frantz 
and Madame George were left him ; their love and 
their friendship were real, and of these two persons 
he could think without sadness. Claire environed 
him with kindly attentions, and Frantz wrote con- 
stantly. As he never spoke of Sidonie, Risler felt 
sure that some one had told him all that had 
happened ; and, in his turn, he equally avoided any 
allusion to the humiliating subject. 

“ When I can summon him home ! ” was Risler’s 
constant thought ; it was his dream, his only am- 
bition — first, to place the manufactory on a solid 
basis, and then to recall Frantz, and to pass the re- 
mainder of his life with him. The days were all 
much alike; each morning he descended to the 
work-rooms, where the profound respect he inspired, 


240 


SID ON IE. 


his serious face and decided manner, had restored 
the order and discipline disturbed for a brief period. 

For a time there had been much gossip in regard 
to Sidonie’s disappearance. Some said she had 
eloped with a lover, others that Risler had driven 
her away. But the thing that disturbed both of 
these beliefs was the position assumed toward each 
other by the former partners. Sometimes, however* 
when they were alone together, Risler had a sudden 
access of rage as he remembered how those lips had 
lied to him — those eyes betrayed him. Then he 
had a mad longing to seize George by the throat, 
and to crush his very life out. But the thought of 
Madame George always restrained him. Should 
he be less courageous, less strong, than that frail 
woman? Neither Claire nor Fromont suspected 
these thoughts ; they simply saw a restraint and 
ooldness that were not altogether natural. The 
operatives were uneasy under the glance of his steel- 
blue eyes, and felt a profound respect for his gray 
hairs — for he had grown very gray and very thin. 

Thanhs to him, the old bell of the factory had 
resumed its ancient authority ; and Risler, kind and 
thoughtful as he was to the industrious, allowed no 
infringement of rules. On the last day of every 
month Chebe made his appearance, and as punctu- 
ally was paid three-quarters of Risler’s salary — re- 
tained brSigismond in his hands for that purpose. 
Once or twice Madame Chebe, who sincerely loved 
and pitied her son-in-law, made an attempt to see 
him, but the mere sight of the well-known shawl 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


241 


put him to flight. Was it that the courage with 
which he armed himself was more apparent than 
real ? Did the remembrance of his wife never leave 
him ? “ What had become of her ? ” he asked him- 

self, constantly ; a where was she ? ” He wished 
that Planus would speak to him of her ; and that 
letter, above all — that letter which he had not had 
the courage to open — haunted him, waking and 
sleeping. Had he dared, he would have asked it 
from Sigismond. One day the temptation was too 
strong. He was alone in the office — the old cashier 
had gone to breakfast, leaving — a most unheard-of 
thing— his key in the desk. Pisler could not resist 
this ; he opened the secret drawer, but the letter was 
not there. Sigismond had placed it in some more 
secure drawer, or perhaps meant to avoid precisely 
what had now taken place. In reality Risler was 
glad of this, for he knew only too well that, should 
he read that letter, his resignation and apparent 
cheerfulness would come to an end. He managed 
to endure the week ; he rose early and worked hard, 
and at night slept a sleep of utter exhaustion. But 
Sundays were inexpressibly painful to him. The 
profound silence that pervaded the building left 
him leisure to think. Sometimes he tried to draw, 
to invent new combinations of flowers and foliage ; 
but, while he moved his pencil, his thoughts rioted 
in the past. He thought of his utter blindness, of 
his laughable simplicity, of his irretrievable shamo 
and misfortunes, until his whole soul quivered with 
pain. 


11 


242 


SIDONIE. 


Oli, those fearful Sundays ! Eemember that he 
was a son of the people ; that he had all their love 
for the day as a day of rest and of simple, quiet en- 
joyment. Had he gone out, the sight of a work- 
man with his wife and child would have stabbed 
him like a knife ; but his secluded, solitary life pre- 
served him from these pangs. 

Often in such sad moments the door would open, 
and Claire Fromont would appear. The desolation 
of the poor man on these long Sundays filled her 
kind heart with compassion, and she came with her 
little girl, knowing by experience that children have 
a strange power to take the ache from sore and 
wounded hearts. The child ran to her friend with 
joy and shouts of delight. Eisler heard the little 
hurrying steps, and, turning, would take her in his 
arms, her soft kisses on his cheek, and her dimpled 
hands smoothing his worn brow ; and then he grew 
calmer. 

Claire smiled gently. 

“ Come, Easier, my friend, the garden is fresh 
and lovely. You work too much.” 

“ Ho, madame, my work is my best friend ; it 
keeps me from thinking.” 

“ But, m.y dear Eisler, you must try to forget.” 

u Is that possible ? One may forgive, but not 
forget.” 

Almost always the child succeeded in dragging 
him away — he must play with her ; but soon his 
gravity struck even the child, and she learned to 
walk quietly at his side through the flower-beds 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


243 


bordered with box* After a few moments, Eisler 
almost forgot her presence, but the soft little hand 
in his own exercised a magical charm over his ul- 
cerated heart. 

“ One may forgive, but not forget ! ” 

Poor Claire recognized the melancholy truth of 
these words, for she had forgotten nothing, while 
she carefully fulfilled every duty. She, as well as 
Eisler, was surrounded by everything that could 
keep her wound open. The staircase and the gar- 
den had on some days an almost unbearable sig- 
nificance. Even the care taken by her husband to 
spare her these painful recollections and associations 
— the resolution he had adopted always to pass his 
evenings with her ; the care he took always to tell 
her where he had been, whom he had seen — only 
served to keep alive the memory of his fault. She 
sometimes longed to say to him, “ Do less — say 
less ! ” 

Confidence was destroyed, and a certain pained 
smile told sometimes the story of her courage and 
her suffering. 

George was miserably unhappy. At this late ' 
date he had learned to love his wife. The gener- 
osity of her nature, the strength of her character, 
had taken him captive. Her cool reserve acted upon 
his frivolous tastes like the caprices of a coquette. 
He had always found his wife too loving, too tender. 
She was always the same, while Sidonie was full of 
caprices ; one day she quarreled with him, the next 
she was jealous and exacting, the third indifferent. 


244 


SIDONIE. 


The peaceful serenity of his wife’s affection wearied 
him. Besides, he had hitherto been sure of it ; now 
he felt that Claire was indifferent, and that the only 
tie between them was their child. Yet he did not 
altogether despair. As to Sidonie, he rarely or never 
thought of her ; and let no one be amazed at thia 
sudden change. In these two superficial natures 
there was nothing that could inspire a profound at- 
tachment ; George was incapable of receiving any 
lasting impresssion— Sidonie equally incapable of 
making one. It was one of those shallow affairs, 
born of vanity and idleness, in which neither devo- 
tion nor constancy had any part. Perhaps, had he 
seen her, he might have felt a quicker beating of the 
heart, but she had been totally swept away in the 
wind of that gusty night ; every trace of her had 
vanished. It was a relief to live again without per- 
petual falsehoods, and, though his daily existence 
was one of much labor and many privations, he was 
not discontented with his lot. The burden of decep- 
tion was lifted from him, and the consequent relief 
was enormous. 

Prosperous days were at last dawning on the 
house. Four of Bisler’s new machines were in full 
operation in the factory, and all the establishments 
at Lyons began to grow extremely uneasy. Finally, 
an enormous sum was offered for one of the ma« 
chines. 

“ What shall we say?” asked George. 

“ Whatever you choose,” replied Eisler. “ I ana 
no longer your partner.” 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


245 


These cold words chilled and marred Fromont’s 
delight. But, when alone with Madame George, 
Bisler said, “ Tell him not to sell yet, but to wait 
awhile.” He seemed only to think of them and of 
their prosperity, not of himself as having any con- 
cern with the matter. — 

Meanwhile orders kep/t pouring in. The quality 
of their paper, the prices so much lower on account 
of their superior facilities for manufacture, made all 
competition with the Fromont papers simply impos- 
sible. Evidently a magnificent fortune was in the 
future for the house. The factory had resumed its 
old look of prosperity. A new building was in pro- 
cess of erection, intended to relieve the busy crowd 
of work-people who filled the older one like so many 
bees. Planus was busy over his books all day, but 
his face was radiant with satisfaction. 

Easier was always busy, never seeking amuse- 
ment or rest. Eeturning prosperity changed no 
one of his personal habits, nor was he less silent 
or less reserved. But one day, when the intelligence 
had arrived that his new invention, a model of which 
Lad been sent to the exposition at Manchester, had 
received the gold medal — the highest prize — Madame 
George sent for him to join her in the garden, that 
she might tell him the good news herself. 

For the first time a smile brightened his sad 
face. His pride as an inventor was gratified, and 
Bisler took his friend’s hands with a warm grasp. 
“ I am happy, so happy ! ” he said ; but what a differ- 
ence in his tone ! — the words were uttered without 


246 


SID ON IE. 


enthusiasm, without hope. He was simply glad tc 
have accomplished the task assigned to him. 

The hell rang to summon the work-people from 
their noon leisure. Risler obeyed also, and returned 
to his drawing-table. 

But he soon came down again, for the news had 
moved him more than he wished any one to suppose. 
He wandered up and down the garden, and smiled 
sadly enough at old Sigismond as he passed the 
window. 

“ What does he want ? ” said the old man to him- 
self, puzzled at this unwonted restlessness. But, in 
the evening, just as the cashier was locking up, Ris- 
ler came to him. 

“ Planus, my friend, I would like — ” (here he 
hesitated) — “ you may give me that letter now, with 
the package too.” 

Sigismond looked utterly dumfounded. Stupidly 
enough, he had fancied that Risler thought no more 
of Sidonie ; that he had forgotten her. 

“ What ! you want — ” 

“ Listen 1 I can afford to think a little now of 
my own affairs. Hitherto, I have allowed myself to 
think only of others.” 

“ Yery true,” said Planus ; “ now let me tell you 
what we had best do : The lefter and the package 
are both at Montrouge. Suppose we dine together 
at the Palais Royal, as we used to do sometimes ; 
for it is not every day that a man receives a gold 
medal, and we will drink a bottle of good wine in 
its honor; then you shall go home with me, and 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


24 ? 


spend the night, and to-morrow at seven o’clock we 
will take the first omnibus to town. Do me this 
favor, it is so long since we passed an evening to- 
gether.” Msler consented, not so much to do honor 
to his medal as to hasten by some hours the moment 
in which he could open that little letter. He must 
dress, which in itself was an exertion, for it was six 
months since he had put on anything but an office- 
coat. 

Madame Fromont was summoned to the window 
by an exclamation of wonder, uttered by her nurse, 
and the sight of Pisler’s bowed form going out of 
the gate with Sigismond caused her a singular pang, 
and one which she remembered long afterward. 

In the street he received many cordial greetings, 
which seemed to gladden his heart, while the noise 
and confusion bewildered his brain. 

“ My head is dizzy and weak,” he said to Planus. 

“Take my arm, and don’t think about it,” an- 
swered his friend, gayly. 

The two men entered the restaurant, and took a 
table that stood in a recess of a window, whence they 
could see the deep green of the trees, and the gay 
stream of the passers-by. This was Sigismond’s 
idea of luxury — this large room, all gilding and 
mirrors. As each course was served, Sigismond 
would insist on Risler’s trying it. He did his best, 
in his anxiety to gratify his friend, but he had little 
appetite. 

“ Do you remember, Sigismond ? ” he said, finally. 

“ "What ? The first time we dined here? ” 


248 


STD ONI K 


Risler shook his head. t£ Oh, no. I am speaking 
of three years since. It was there, in that very 
room, that we dined three years ago” — and he 
showed his friend Yefour’s salon opposite, the win- 
dows of which glittered in the setting sun. 

“ That is so,” murmured Sigismond. in confusion ; 
why had he brought his unfortunate friend to a place 
that recalled to him so much that was painful ? Ris- 
ler, anxious to enliven the repast, raised his glass : 
“ To your health, old friend.” He tried to turn the 
conversation, hut a few moments later he himself 
returned to it. 

“ Have you seen her ? ” 

“ Your wife ? Ho, not once.” 

“ She has not written again ? ” 

“Ho, never.” 

“But you must have heard something about 
her in all these months. Is she with her par 
ents ? ” 

“ Ho, she is not.” 

Risler turned very pale. He hoped that Sidonie 
was with her mother, expiating the past by daily 
labor. He had determined that by what he should 
now hear of her he would regulate his future life ; 
and sometimes he had dreamed of a future in some 
far-distant land where the shameful past would be 
unknown. He had, to be sure, made no plans; but 
in the depths of his heart some vague idea of the 
kind had taken root. 

“ Is she in Paris ? ” Risler asked, after a moment’s 
silence. 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


249 


“Ho, she has been gone three months, and no 
one knows where she is.” 

Sigismond did not add that she had gone with 
Casaboni, whose name she now bore, and that her 
mother was broken-hearted. Sigismond saw no need 
of telling these facts, and so sat in silence. 

Risler, in his turn, said no more. At that mo- 
ment the military band, under the trees in the gar- 
den, struck up an air from an Italian opera. Risler 
started, and, turning to the window, listened with 
pleasure to the cheering tones. When the music 
ceased, the garden became gradually deserted — a 
faint ray of the lingering day gilded the distant 
spires and upper windows — while the twittering 
swallows clustered under the eaves. 

“ Where shall we go now? ” said the cashier, as 
they left the restaurant. 

“ Wherever you please.” 

Just below, in La Rue de , was a concert- 

room, where a number of persons were hurrying. 
“ Suppose w T e go in, too, for a half-hour ? ” said Si- 
gismond, anxious to cheer his friend, if possible. 

Risler made no objection. It was an old restau- 
rant transformed into a concert-hall. Three good- 
sized rooms were turned into one, divided by gilded 
columns. Although it was early, there was a crowd 
assembled. The air w T as suffocating, and the glare 
of the gas bewildering. Little tables were scattered 
about, and at the extreme end of the apartment sat 
several women in white, upon a raised platform. 

Our two friends had much difficulty in finding 


250 


SID ON IE. 


seats, but finally succeeded in establishing therm 
selves in a corner, whence only a partial view could 
be obtained of the platform — at that moment occu- 
pied by a magnificent personage in a black coat and 
yellow gloves. 

The public — the small merchants of the neigh- 
borhood, with their wives and their fiancees — were 
highly delighted with the romance he was singing ; 
but Eisler and Sigismond drank their beer, without 
paying much attention to the music, when suddenly 
the cashier exclaimed, just as the romance came to 
an end : 

“ There is Dellobelle ! ” 

Truly enough, the old actor was there, close to 
the miniature stage. He was carelessly leaning 
against a pillar — dressed with the most punctilious 
care — his linen was dazzling, and his black coat 
w r as decorated with a camellia. He occasionally ex- 
amined the crowd with the air of a man who acci- 
dentally finds himself among his inferiors ; but his 
attention was mainly directed to the platform, where 
he turned continually with an encouraging smile or 
gesture, intended for some one whom Planus could 
not see, on account of the intervening pillars. There 
was nothing very extraordinary in the presence of 
old Dellobelle in this concert-hall, and yet the cashier 
felt a certain uneasiness — above all, when he saw 
Madame Dobson’s blond curls and pale-blue eyes 
among the audience. Amid the smoke of the pipes 
and the noisy crowd, these two faces had the effect 
of two ghosts, or of illusions in a bad dream. He 


A CONCERT-ROOM. 


251 


felt afraid for his friend, and yet lie knew not why, 
nor what he had to dread ; but he determined to 
take him away. 

“ Come, Eisler, let us go ; the heat is intolerable 
here ! ” 

Just as they rose — for Bisler was as willing to 
go as to stay — the orchestra, composed of a piano 
and several violins, began a singular air. “ Hush ! ” 
cried several persons. “ Be seated ! ” cried others. 

They were obliged to resume their places. But 
Risler felt a vague discomfort. “ I know that air,” 
he said ; “ where have I heard it ? ” 

Vociferous applause, and an exclamation from 
Sigismond, made him turn round. 

“ Come, quick — let us go ! ” said the cashier. 
But it was too late ! Kisler had seen his wife come 
forward to the edge of the platform, and bow to the 
public, with the air of a ballet-dancer. 

She wore a white dress, as she had done the last 
time he saw her ; but the material was less rich, and 
the whole style vulgar in the extreme. Her dress 
did not cover her shoulders ; her hair was crimped 
and waved, until it met her eyebrows ; and around 
her throat was a necklace of pearls too large to be 
real. Dellobelle was quite correct in his judgment. 
She was thoroughly at home in Bohemia, and had 
acquired that unmistakable stamp — that air of utter 
indifference to all pure and noble influences. And 
flow perfectly unembarrassed she was ! 

Ah ! had she seen that despairing, terrible look 
in those eyes which were fixed on her at the other 


252 


SID ON IE. 


end of the room, her smile would have lacked its 
serenity, and her voice would never have been so 
smooth as she sang the languishing notes of the only 
romance Madame Dobson had ever been able to 
teach her: 

“Pauvre petit Mam’zelle Zizi, 

C’est l’amou’, l’amou’, qui tourne — ” 

Risler rose to his feet, in spite of all his friend’s 
entreaties. 

“ Down ! down ! ” some one cried. 

But he heard nothing, saw nothing, save Sidonie. 

“ C’est l’amou’, l’amou 1 — ” 

continued his wife, with a seductive glance. He 
asked himself if he should leap on the platform and 
kill her, then and there ! He saw flashes of light- 
ning pass before his eyes, and felt a mad, beast-like 
anger and rage. But, suddenly, shame and disgust 
flll-ed his soul, and he rushed out of the room, scat- 
tering chairs and tables on his way, and followed by 
exclamations of amazement and disapproval from 
the scandalized auditors. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE VENGEANCE OF SIDONIE. 

Never, in the whole twenty years that he had 
lived at Montronge, had Sigismond staid out so 
late without giving notice previously to his sister. 
Consequently, she was in a state of excessive anxiety. 
For months she had shared all her brother’s anxi- 
eties, and this night she said to herself, “It is to be 
hoped that there is no new trouble at the factory.” 
She had sent her dinner away untasted. And now 
behold her, in a state of painful agitation, walking 
up and down her little parlor. 

Suddenly, the door-bell rang; but the faint 
sound in no way resembled her brother’s usual as- 
sault on that bell-handle. 

“ Is it you ? ” she asked from within. s 

It was he ; but not alone. A tall man entered 
with Sigismond, and said good-evening in a low 
voice. Not until he spoke did the kind-hearted 
woman recognize Risler, whom she had not seen 
since tlie day when she called upon Sidonie — that is 
to say, some time before the sad events that had 
darkened his life. It was with difficulty that she 
restrained an exclamation of pity and astonishment. 


254 


SIDONIE. 


“ Listen : will yon kindly get my room in readi- 
ness for our friend, wlio will pass the niglit with 
us?” said Sigismond. 

Mademoiselle Planus arranged the apartment 
with tender care, for he it understood that, with the 
exception of her brother, Eisler was the only man 
who escaped the reprobation she lavished upon his 
sex. 

Coming out of the concert-room, Sidonie’s hus- 
band had a few minutes of frightful excitement. 
There was no thought now of the letter and the 
package at Montrougo. “ I must be alone,” he said 
sternly to Sigismond. Put the other would not 
leave him in his despair. Unperceived by Eisler, 
his friend drew him far away from the manufactory, 
and the kind heart as well as acute brain of the 
cashier told him what to say to his friend. During 
their long walk he spoke only of Frantz — his brother 
Frantz, who loved him so dearly. 

“Yes, there is true affection; you have Frantz 
always to lean on, Eisler ; he will never fail you.” 

These words soothed Eisler almost unconsciously, 
and he made no objection when Sigismond insisted 
on taking him to his ow r n house. The old man felt 
that Eisler, on seeing the calm serenity of the little 
home where the brother and sister lived together, 
might be led to think of a similar one for himself 
and Frantz. And, in fact, hardly had they entered 
the door when the sweet homeliness made itself felt. 

“Yes, you are right,” said Eisler. “I must 
think no more of this woman. She is totally dead 


THE VENGEANCE OF SIDONIE. 


255 


to me from this time forward. I have no one in the 
world belonging to me now, save Frantz. I cannot 
yet tell whether I shall go to him, or send for him 
to return to me. One thing, however, is absolutely 
certain — we must pass the residue of our lives to- 
gether. He has always been more like a son than 
a brother to me, and I feel the need of him to lean 
upon. Once, I longed to die ; now, I mean to live 
— to live for and with my Frantz.” 

“'Bravo ! ” cried Sigismond. “ How, you are 
talking like a man of sense, and as I like to hear 
you ! ” 

At this moment, Mademoiselle Planus came to 
say that Risler’s room was in readiness. 

Risler apologized for the trouble and disturbance 
he had caused. “You are so happy here,” he said, 
“ that it seems a shame to bring the burden of my 
sorrows under your roof.” 

“But you will soon be as happy as we are,” 
interrupted Sigismond, gently; “you with your 
brother, and I with my sister.” 

Risler smiled in a dreamy way. He saw vaguely 
before him a new home, a peaceful dwelling, Frantz 
and himself its sole inmates. 

“ It is late,” cried Planus, cheerfully. “ To bed 
with you ! ” 

Sigismond’s room was large and airy — simply 
furnished, but exquisitely fresh and clean. The old 
cashier looked about it with pride. A glass of wate^ 
was on a small table at the head of the bed, and a 
case of razors lay open on the bureau, ready for use. 


256 


SID ON IE. 


“ Look, Risler, and see if yon have all you want. 
I think everything is here — but, should you need 
anything, the drawers are not locked, you have hut 
to open them. And just look out at the view ; you 
can’t see much of it to-night, to he sure, but in the 
morning, when you wake, you will find that it is 
superb.” 

He opened the window — large drops of rain 
were beginning to fall, and sudden streaks of heat- 
lightning showed the black clouds, the long line of 
fortifications, or the telegraph-wires. The step of 
the patrol was heard occasionally, accompanied by 
the rattle of a musket or a sabre, and served to re- 
mind the listener that he was within the military 
zone. This was the prospect so much vaunted by 
Planus — a prospect dreary and monotonous enough. 
“ And now, good-night ; sleep well ! ” 

But, as the old man closed the door, his friend 
called him back. 

“ Sigismond ! ” 

The good man waited. Risler colored slightly ; 
his lips moved ; no words were heard ; then, with a 
great effort, he said : 

“ Never mind, nothing. To-morrow will do! ” 

In the dining-room the brother and .sister talked 
seriously and long in low voices. Planus told of the 
terrible occurrences of the evening, and described 
Sidonie’s appearance. Finally, one of them locked 
riie door into the garden, and Sigismond made 
himself comfortable in a small room next his sis- 
ter. 


THE VENGEANCE OF SID0N1E. 


257 


In the middle of the night, the cashier was 
awakened by a frightened call from his sister’s room. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked, starting up. 

“ Did you hear anything i ” 

“ No, what was it ? ” 

“ Oh ! it was frightful — a groan, so full of agony ; 
it came from your room below.” 

They listened. The rain was coming down in 
torrents, and rattling among the foliage and on the 
windows. 

“It is the wind,” said Sigismond. 

“ No,, it was not. Hark ! ” 

In the momentary hush of the storm they heard 
the wail of a human voice. 

“ Frantz ! Frantz ! ” 

A superstitious terror took violent possession of 
Mademoiselle Planus. 

“ I am frightened,” she said. “ Go and see — ” 

“ No, no, he is thinking of his brother. Poor 
fellow ! but that thought will do him more good 
than anything else.” And the old cashier turned 
over and went to sleep again. 

In the morning he awoke as usual at the reveille 
of the forts, for the little house so near the forti- 
fications regulated all its movemenls by those of 
its military guardians. His sister was feeding her 
poultry, but when she saw Sigismond she hurried 
toward him. 

“ It is strange,” she said, nervously, “ but I do 
not hear the least sound in our guest’s room, and 
yet the window is wide open.” 


258 


SIDONIE. 


Sigismond, somewhat astonished himself, knocked 
at the door. 

“ Kisler ! Risler ! ” He called again, with some 
anxiety, “ Are you asleep still ? ” 

Ho answer came, and he opened the door. The 
room was deadly cold ; the window had evidently 
been open all night. At the first glance at the bed 
Planus thought, “ He sat up all night.” The cover- 
ings of the bed were in truth undisturbed, and in 
every detail of the apartment a night of sleepless- 
ness was revealed. The lamp was still smoking ; 
the glass of water was empty ; but the thing that 
most disturbed the cashier was the sight of the bu- 
reau-drawer in which he had deposited the letter 
and package, wide open and empty. 

The package lay on the table, and contained 
some photographs of Sidonie, taken when she was 
but fifteen. The simple muslin dress, close in the 
throat ; the hair parted over the pretty forehead ; 
the somewhat awkward attitude, bore little resem- 
blance to the Sidonie of the later days ; and it was 
precisely for that reason that Kisler had kept these 
photographs. 

Sigismond was overwhelmed with consternation. 
“ It is my fault,” he said ; “ I ought to have locked 
them up. But who would have thought that he 
cared still ? He swore that this woman no longei 
existed for him ! ” 

At this moment his sister entered. 

“ He has gone 1 ” she cried. 

“ Gone ? Impossible ; the gate was locked.” 


THE VENGEANCE OF SIDONIE. 


259 


“ But he climbed over the wall ; it is quite evi* 
dent, the marks are there.” 

Sigismond looked blankly at her. 

“ It is that letter ! ” he muttered. 

It was evident that this communication from Si- 
donie had given her husband some astounding in- 
telligence, and, in order nQt to disturb his hosts, he 
had left the house, like a midnight assassin, through 
a window. But where had he gone \ 

“ You will see,” said poor Sigismond, as he hur- 
riedly swallowed his breakfast, “ that his miserable 
wretch of a wife has played him some new rascally 
trick.” And when his sister offered him some few 
words of comfort he shook his head despairingly. 
rt I have no confidence,” he murmured, returning to 
his old refrain. 

On the earth, soaked by the heavy rain of the 
night, Bisler’s steps were to be seen to the garden- 
gate. He had gone before daylight, for the vegeta- 
bles and the flowers were alike broken down by his 
feet, and the wall was scarred where he had climbed 
upon it. Once outside, it was impossible to trace 
him. 

“ Why need we disturb ourselves ? ” said Made- 
moiselle Planus, finally ; “ he has probably gone 
back to the factory.” 

Sigismond shook his head. Alas I he dared not 
give utterance to his thoughts and fears. “ Beturn 
to the house,” he said, sadly, “ and I will go far- 
ther and ascertain if any one has seen him.” 

At this particular hour a great many persons 


260 


SID ONI K 


were always to be met on the ramparts and on the 
road to the forts ; but Planus saw a small group 
huddled together ; instinctively he turned his steps 
in that direction. As he drew nearer, he saw a cus- 
tom-house official sitting on a stone step by the side 
of the huge iron gate. The man was speaking 
loudly, and gesticulating- with much earnestness. 

“ It was just here,” he said, “ that I found him 
hanging. He was stone dead. If his rope had 
broken, he meant, I think, to use that razor he had 
in his pocket.” 

Some one in the crowd said, “ Poor fellow ! ” 
Then another voice, choked with emotion, asked if 
he were really dead. 

Everybody laughed, and turned to look at Planus. 

“ You can see for yourself,” the man answered, 
roughly ; “ the body was carried to those barracks 
over there.” 

The barracks were very near, and yet Planus 
had the greatest difficulty in dragging himself there. 
To be sure, suicides were by no means rare in 
Paris, and hardly a day passed that a body was not 
taken down from some part of that long line of for- 
tifications ; and yet Planus felt but too sure of what 
he was to see and hear. 

“Ah! you have come to look at the suicide,” 
said the sentinel. “ Ho in ; he is there.” 

They had placed the body on a long pine table ; 
over it was thrown an officer’s cloak. A group of 
soldiers was in the room, and two or three cavalry- 
officers, all talking with voices lowered as if in a 


THE VENGEANCE OF S1D0NIE. 


261 


church; and by the window an aide-de-camp waa 
busy writing. 

Sigismond said, gently, “ Can I see him ? ” and, 
receiving an assenting nod, the cashier walked up to 
the table. After a moment’s hesitation he drew 
away the cloak from the marble face. 

“ She killed you at last, dear old friend ! ” mur- 
mured Planus, as he fell on his knees. 

The officers drew a little nearer, to look at the 
dead man, but remained silent and uncovered. 

“ See, major,” said one at last, “ his hand is closed 
on something.” 

“I dare say,” answered the major, as he ap- 
proached. “ Don’t you remember at Solferino, 
when Bordy was shot, he held a miniature of his 
daughter so tightly that it was with the greatest 
difficulty we could take it away % ” As he spoke, he 
made an effort to unclose the poor, stiff hand. “ It 
is a letter,” he said, and was about to read it, when, 
suddenly recollecting himself, he handed it to Sigis- 
mond. 

“ Read it, sir ; it is, perhaps, the expression of 
some last wish.” 

Planus rose from his knees. The room was 
dark, and a mist was over his eyes. He tottered 
to the window, and deciphered these words on the 
torn and crumpled page : 

“ I love you — I love you more than ever — and 
forever ! Why struggle longer f Our passion 
is stronger than ourselves 


26 2 


SIDONIE. 


It was the letter written by Frantz to his sister- 
in-law, more than a year before. Sidonie had sent 
it to her husband the day after her flight, meaning 
to avenge herself on him and on his brother at the 
same time, and by the same blow. 

Risler lived through the treachery of his wife ; 
but his brother’s falsehood killed him. 

When Sigismond’s bewildered brain finally 
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Planus extended his trembling hands with angry 
vehemence. 

a Wretch ! ” he cried — “ wretch ! ” 

But no one about him knew whom he addressed 

/ 

— whether it was the fair city of Paris, or the guilty 
woman who had wrought such infinite woe. 


THE END. 


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673 Pearl of the Andes 10 

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209 The Executor 2J 

349 V aleri e’s Fate 10 

664 At Bay -...10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

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419 Fairy Tales 20 

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394 The Giant’s Robe 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

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436 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

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496 Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

638 The Ways of Providence 15 

545 Home Scenes .15 

554 Stories for Parents ....15 

563 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

568 W ords for the Wise 15 

574 Stories for Young Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessons in Life 15 

5S2 Off-Hand Sketches 15 

685 Tried and Tempted 15 

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851 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers ...... 20 


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756 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast up by the Sea 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon. .20 

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381 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

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226 The Fire Brigade .20 

239 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

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460 Galaski 20 

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712 Woman 30 

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470 Vic 15 

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77 Pillone ..15 

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366 The Sergeant’s Legacy ' . .20 

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103 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

118 They Were Married .... 10 

257 All in a Garden Fair 20 

268 When the Ship Comes Home id 

384 Dorothy Forster 20 

699 Self or Bearer < 10 

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4 Arne 10 

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40 An Adventure in Thule, etc .10 

48 A Princess of Thule ,,,,,, 20 


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85 Shandon Bells 20 

93 Macleod of Dare 20 

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142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . . 20 

146 White Wings* 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

ISO Kilmeny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch ..20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

213 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith . . 1 0 

282 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise Women of Inverness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

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105 Woman’s Place To-day... 20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 

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88 The Golden Calf 20 

104 Lady Audi’s Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune 20 

266 Under the Red Flag 10 

444 An Ishmaelite 20 

555 Aurora Floyd 20 

588 To the Bitter End 20 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 Vixen 20 

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696 The Master of the Mine .10 


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660 For Lilias 26 

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503 Chartism 20 

5''8 Sartor Resartus 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway 20 

520 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

522 Goethe, and Miscell meous Essays. . . 10 

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52S Voltaire and Novalis 15 

541 Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

546 Signs of the Times 15 

550 German Literature 15 

561 Portraits of John Knox. 15 

571 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

578 Frederick the Great, Vol. I .20 

580 44 44 44 Vol. II 20 

591 44 44 44 Vol. Ill 20 

610 44 44 44 Vol. IV....... 20 

619 44 44 44 Vol. V 20 

622 44 44 44 Vol. VI 20 

626 44 44 44 Vol. VII 20 

628 44 44 44 Vol. VIII.. ....20 

630 Life of John Sterling. 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

643 Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1 25 

646 44 44 Vol. II 25 

649 44 44 Vol. Ill 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays. . . 15 

656 Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays .15 

658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
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661 Dr. Franeia and other Essays 15 

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480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass .20 

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200 The Pilgrim’s Progress : ; 20 

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287 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation. . . . 20 

476 Love Works Wonders. 20 

558 Fair but False „ 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 At War with Herself .... 15 

669 Hilda 10 

689 Her Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Parted 30 

700 In Cupid’s Net 30 

701 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 For Another’s Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement ; 20 

744 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

752 Set in Diamonds 20 

764 A Fair Mystery 20 

BY S. T. C3IERIDGE 

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BY WILKIE COLLINS 

8 The Moonstone, Part 1 10 

9 The Moonstone, Part II. . 10 

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87 Heart and Science 20 

418 “I Say No” .20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 10 

686 My Lady’s Money 10 

722 The Evil Genius 20 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back ,,15 

462 Dark Days 15 

612 Carriston’s Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas; a Mystery 10 

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667 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and Arrows 10 

715 A Cardinal Sin. 20 

745 LivingorDead 20 

750 Somebody’s Story 10 

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6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

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378 Homeward Bound .20 

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LIBRARY. 


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506 Wing and Wing 20 

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517 Heidenmauer 20 

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524 The Bravo 20 

527 Lionel Lincoln ’ 20 

529 Wept of Wish-ton- Wish 20 

532 Afloat and Ashore 20 

539 Miles Wallingford 20 

543 The Monikins 20 

548 Mercedes of Castile . . 20 

553 The Sea Lions 20 

559 The Crater 20 

562 Oak Openings 20 

570 Satanstoe . 20 

576 The Chain-Bearer 20 

587 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redskins 25 

611 Jack Tier 20 

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409 Adrift with a Vengeance ...... .25 

BY R. CRISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickshingle 20 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

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345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

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260 Mrs. Darling’s War Letters 20 

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315 Winifred Power 20 

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478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

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645 The Nabob 25 

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453 Mystic London 20 

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704 Evolution 1 20 

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42S Robinson Crusoe 25 

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27 Irene; or, The Lonely Manor 2(1 


3 


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91 

140 

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150 

158 

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192 

201 

210 

219 

223 

228 

231 

234 

237 

244 

246 

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270 

273 

274 

282 

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293 

297 

298 

302 

437 

404 

498 

58 

76 

78 

86 

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92 

126 

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168 

284 

451 

477 

530 

618 

621 

624 

721 

735 

737 

95 

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David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each 20 

Hard Times 20 

Great Expectations 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . ..20 

American Notes 20 

Dombey and Son, 2 Parts, each 20 

Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each 21 J 

Our Mutual Friend. 2 Parts, each... 20 
Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

Pictures from Italy 10 

The Boy atMugby 10 

Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

The Haunted House, etc 10 

The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

Sketches by Boz. ... 20 

A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

Uncommercial Traveller 20 

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Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

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Molly Bawn 20 

Phyllis... 20 

Monica 10 

Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

Faith and Unfaith 20 

Beauty’s Daughters 20 

Rossmoyne 20 

Doris 20 

A Week in Kiilarney 10 

In Durance Vile 10 

Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, 41 O Tender 

Dolores”. ... 20 

A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

A Passive Crime 1U 

Lady Branksmere 20 

A Mental Struggle .20 

The Haunted Chamber 10 

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Letters from High Latitudes 20 

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Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

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LIBRARY. 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES 


681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 

203 Disarmed la 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marne, r .7 10 

79 Romola, 2 Parts, each.. 15 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each. . . 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

2U5 The Spanish Gypsy, Jubal,and other 
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207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each. 15 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book 20 

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EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

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407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

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413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

877 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morison 10 

225 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 • 

380 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

864 Scott, by R. H. Hutton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds,... 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden 10 

431 Spencer, by the Dean of St. Paul’s. . 10 
344 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. . .10 
410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 10 

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243 Gautran; or, House of White Shad- 
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654 Love’s Harvest 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

473 Christmas Stories 20 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

19 Seekers after God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 
each 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life. 20 

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760 Fair Women 20 


OUR, ROMAN PALACE 

Or, HILDA AND I. 


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LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


LATEST 

664 At Bay, by Mrs. Alexander. 10 

665 Mornings in Florence, by Buskin .. 15 
665 Barbara's Rival, by Ernest Young. 20 


667 Story of a Sculptor, by Conway.. .10 
663 Sc. Marks Rt^t, by John Ruskin.. 15 

609 Hilda, by Bertha M Clay 10 

67U Deucal on, by Rudkin 10 

671 The Scout, by S mms £5 

672 Slings and Arrows, by C rnway ]0 

673 Art of England, by Ruskin 15 

674 The Wigwam and Caoin,by Shnms.80 

675 A Rainy June, by Ouida 10 

676 Eagle’s Nest, by Ruskin.. 15 

677 Vasconselos, by Simms 80 

678 White Heather, by Black 20 

679 Our Fathers have Told Us, Ruskin. 15 

680 Confession, by Simms 30 

681 A Girton Girl, by Mrs. Edwards.. .20 

682 Proserpina, by Ruskin 15 

683 The Ghost’s Touch, by Collins 10 

6S4 Woodcraft, by Simms 30 

685 Val d'Arno, by Ruskin 15 

6S6 My Lady's Money, by Collins 10 

687 Richard Hurdis, by Simms 30 

688 Love’s Meinie, by Raskin .15 

689 Her Martyrdom, by B. M. Clay. ..20 

690 Guy Rivers, by Simms 30 

691 A Woman’s Honor, by Young ....20 

692 Lord Lynne’s Choice, B. M. Clay. .10 

693 Border Beagles, bv W. G. Simms.. 30 

694 The Shadow of a Sin, B. M. Clay.. 10 


695 Wedded and Parted, by B. M. Clay.10 

696 The Master of the Mine, Buchanan. 10 

697 The Forayers, by Simms 30 

698 The Mistletoe Bough, M.E.Braddon. 20 

699 Self or B earer, Walter Besant . . .10 

700 In Cupid’s Net, by B. M. Clay 10 

701 Lady Hamer’s Secret, B. M. Clay.. 20 

702 Charlem >nt, by W. G. Simms ... .30 

703 Eutaw, by W. G. Simms 30 

704 Evolution, Rev. C. F. Deems, D.D.20 

705 Beauchampe, by W. G. Simms 30 

706 Nj. 99, by Arthur Griffiths 10 

707 Fors Clavigera, by Ruskin. P’t 1. 30 

708 Fors Clavigera, by Ruskin. P’t II.. 30 

709 Woman against Woman, by Holmes. 20 

710 Picciola, by J. X. B. Saintine 10 

711 Undine, by Baron de la Motte 

Fouque 10 

712 Woman, by August Bebel 30 

713 Fors Clavigera, by Ruskin. P’t III. 30 

714 Fors Clavigera, by Ruskin. P’t IV. 80 

715 A Cardinal Sin, by Hugh Con way. 20 

716 A Crimson Stain, Annie Bradshaw. 20 

717 ACountryGentleman,Mrs.Oliphant.20 

718 A Gilded Sin, by B. M. Clay 10 

719 Rory O’More, by Samuel Lover... 20 

720 Between Two Loves, B. M. Clay. . .20 

721 Lady Branksmere, by The Duchess. 20 

722 The Evil Genius, bv Wilkie Collins.20 

723 Running the Gauntlet, by Yates.. 20 

724 Broken to Harness, Edmund Yates.20 

725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love, Margaret Lee.. 25 

726 Austin Eliot, by Henry Kingsley.. 20 


ISSUES, 

727 For Another’s Sin, by B. M. Clay.. 20 

728 Theli llyarsand Burtons, Kingsiey 20 

729 In Prison and Out, by Stretton. . . 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl, by Clay.20 

731 Leighton Court, by Kingsley 20 

732 Victory Deane^ by Cecil Griffith. .20 

733 A Q ieen amongst Women, by Ciay.10 

734 Vineta, by E. Werner. 20 

735 A Mental Struggle, The Duche s.,20 
716 Geoffrey Hamlyn, by H King-ley. 80 

737 The Haunted Chamber, ‘\Duchess’\l(J 

738 A Golden Dawn, by B. M. Clay. ... 10 

739 Like no Other Love, by B. M. Clay.10 

740 A Bitter Atonement, by B. M. Clay .20 

741 Lorimer and Wife, by Margaret Lee. 20 

742 Social Solutions No. 1, by Howland. 10 

743 A Woman’s Vengeance, by Holmes. 20 

744 Evelyn’s Folly, by B. M. Clay 20 

745 Living or Dead, by Hugh Con way.. 20 

746 Beaton’s Bargain, Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

747 Social Solutions, No. 2, by Howland. 10 

748 Our Roman Palace, by Benjamin.. 20 

749 Mayor of Casterbridge, by Hardy. 20 

750 Somebody’s Story, by Hugh Con way. 10 

751 King Arthur, by Miss Unlock.. . .20 

752 Set in Diamonds, by B. M. Clay.. 20 

753 Social Solutions, No. 3, by Howland. 10 

754 A Modern Midas, by Maurice Jokai.20 

755 A Fallen Idol, by F. Anstey 20 

756 Conspiracy, by Adam Badeau... .25 

757 Doris’ Fortune, by F. Warden 10 

758 Cynic Fortune, by D. C. Murray.. 10 

759 Foul Play, by Chas. Reade. 20 

760 Fair Women, by Mrs. Forrester 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part I., by 

Alexandre Dumas 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II., by 

Alexandre Dumas 20 

762 Social Solutions, No. 4, by Howland.10 

763 Moths, by Ouida f .20 

764 A Fair Mystery, by Bertha M. Clay.20 

765 Social Solutions, No. 5, by Howland.10 

766 Vixen, by Miss Braddon 20 

767 Kidnapped, by R. L. Stevenson... 20 

768 The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde, by R. L. Stevenson. 10 

769 Prince Otto, by R. L. Stevenson. . .10 

770 The Dynamiter, byR. L. Stevenson. 20 

771 The Old Mam’selle’a Secret, by E. 

Marlitt 20 

772 Mysteries of Paris, Part I.. by Sue. 20 

772 Mysteries of Paris, Part II., by Sue. 20 

773 Put Yourself in His Place, by Reade 20 

774 Social Solutions, No. 6, by Howland. 10 

775 The Three Guardsmen, by Dumas. 20 

776 The Wandering Jew, Part i.,by Sue. 20 

776 The Wandering Jew. Part II., by Sue. 20 

777 A Second Life, bv Mrs. Alexander.20 

778 Social Solutions, No. 7. by Howland.10 

779 My Friend Jim, by W. E. Norris . . 10 


7 >0 Bad to Beat, by Hawley Smart. . 10 

781 Betty’s Visions, by Broughton 15 


782 Social Solutions, No. 8, by Howland.10 

783 The Octoroon, by Miss Braddon.. ,. 10 


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